Untrusted
by Irish Luck 19
Summary: Every enemy has a secret. Every ally has an agenda.
1. Prologue

**Warning!** This is the sequel to my first ever fanfiction, _Unmasked._ It's not necessary to read first to understand this story (and I do think _Untrusted_ has higher quality writing), but there will be spoilers for _Unmasked_ throughout. Up to you.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned a billion dollar franchise, don't you think I'd be doing something better with it than writing fanfiction? Or making that stupid Batman v. Superman movie, for that matter?

* * *

**Untrusted**

**Part I**

**Chapter 1: **Prologue

"I'm leaving, Red."

"Alright." Ivy grimaced at the mouse she was observing. She'd given him a little too much this time around—his muscles were seizing to the point he couldn't breathe. Gas poisons were almost impossible to dose. "I could use more gloves whenever you get back."

"No, Red, I'm _leaving._"

Ivy looked up at that. Harley's eyes were wide, her expression more serious, more lucid, than Ivy had seen all week. She straightened, tossed the mouse back in his cage. "What do you mean?"

"That it's, uh, time for us to go. Duh."

"Where?"

"Home. Gotham."

Gotham. Home. That wasn't why Harley wanted it, of course, and they both knew it. Gotham meant one thing to both of them: Andrea Taylor.

_Stall._

Ivy thought of herself as a straightforward person. If you hit her, she hit back twice as hard. If you screwed up the world by dumping toxins or getting greedy, she killed you. Simple. Direct.

It was impressive, then, that she'd gotten as good at misdirection as she had in the past two years.

"Are you sure she's even in Gotham?" Ivy asked. "She was in Star City the last time we almost caught her, and she's not an idiot. She has to know we're watching Gotham more than anywhere else."

Harley pouted at her.

"I _can_ do my research, Red," she said as she climbed onto a lab table, her legs swinging off the edge like a child's. "Just because I'm not as—as put together as you—because I forget how to—to use a fork or—who my parents were—even when I lose everything—"

"Come on, Harley, you know I don't mean it like that…"

"I remember _her_," Harley whispered. "I lose everything else, Red. Even Mr. J, sometimes, but I always remember _her._ And that she took him away. I have to kill her, or it'll never be quiet in…" She formed her fingers like a gun and pointed them at her head. "In _here."_

Ivy stared at the fake gun and felt a chill walk down her spine. That was how it was going to end, wasn't it? Andi with her self-righteous crusade, Harley with her vendetta.

Ever since that awful night in the greenhouse, the future had been written out. One of them would kill the other. If Ivy hadn't constantly rerouted Harley's attempts, it would already have happened. The three of them had been best friends, and now Harley was hell bent on killing Andi, while Andi still insisted that she'd done the right thing. Sometimes Ivy felt like the only sane one of the three.

Not that that said much.

Ivy screwed up her eyes and pinched her nose.

"Ya ok over there?"

"Think I caught a whiff of that poison," Ivy said, because letting Harley know you had a conscience was a fast way to die. "Give me a second."

Harley would kill Andi. Or Andi would kill Harley. It was almost a law of nature by this point.

Screw that. Ivy was a scientist; she had mastered the laws of nature. There had been a way out all the other times, and there would be one now. They wanted to fight. Fine. Ivy had to change it so that they wouldn't or _couldn't_. Scare or hurt one or the other of them to the point that they got out of the game.

She could do it now. She had a gun in arm's reach. She could threaten Harley, lock her down somewhere so that it was physically impossible to chase after Andi and… no. Harley would call her bluff, make Ivy either shoot or release her. For all that Harley and Andi had changed, for all that Ivy herself was a ruthless killer now, she was also still their friend. She could never look them in the eyes and hurt them. Could never pull the trigger herself.

"What if it's not us who do it?"

_"Red…"_

Ivy wasn't like Harley or Andi; she was an awful liar. But by now she knew what it was Harley wanted to hear. "Us going after her… it's just plain boring, Harls. It's what she and expects us to do. Plus Gotham's getting stronger by the day and we aren't exactly anonymous over there. So… what if we flip the tables on them? What if we send someone else to do the job?"

"It can't be someone else who kills her. It has to be _me._ Or maybe you, if you really want."

"I know, Harley." Ivy made herself fake a smile. "You really think that anyone besides us _can?_ Because I don't. But if we let someone else go first, soften her up, weaken Gotham to the point that it's vulnerable…"

Harley's face scrunched up, thinking about it.

"Ok, Red," she said. "If you really think that'll work. But when it's done, we move in. Deal? We go after Andi, and we smash her. And stomp on the pieces. Got it? Deal?"

Ivy tried to imagine her face was a statue, that her thoughts weren't escaping. She didn't think it worked—Andi had been the one with the poker face, not her. _Get out of there, Andi. This is the only warning I can send; take it and run._

She wouldn't, though. Not if Ivy knew Andi. To force her out, Ivy would have to do more than just scare her. She would have to burn Andi so badly that she could no longer fight.

But she'd be alive. Neither she nor Harley would kill each other.

"Red?"

"Deal."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Ah, it's so good to be back (even if it's short)! Thank you guys for reading; if you liked it, I hope you know where to type and tell me.

Many thanks to Lasgalendil and Shad0whuntress for looking over this. They're not only good editors, they're excellent writers too, so check them out!


	2. Date

**Chapter 2:** Date

"Sorry I'm late." Andi gave her date a sheepish smile as she slid into the other side of the booth. "I swear, I drove past this place five times before I saw it. I had no idea there even _was_ authentic Cajun on this side of the city."

JP gave her a grin, that roguish one that made the tension in her neck fade and a smile appear on her face. Three dates in, and it was still hard to resist. "It's no problem. The waiter just had time to take drink and appetizer orders. You alright with hush puppies?"

"Sounds great."

"Barbara?"

It took Andi a second to respond. Barbara. Right. She'd been Kayla, then Janice, Reilly, Sophie, Therese, Elizabeth, Tiffany, Grace, Alexa, and now Barbara. Barbara Walker, the personal assistant with a taste for fashion, football, and classical guitar music. "Yes?"

"Are you alright? You seem a little…"

"Distracted?" Andi dropped the menu and looked JP in the eye. Nice eyes. Light blue and honest, with blunt features and longish blond hair. He looked like a Norse god, at least until you saw that easy-going half smile that he always had. "Long day at work. My boss forgot his suit jacket in the office and decided that I had to drive through rush hour traffic to get it back to him." It was a good excuse. It was even true. "What about you? What have you been doing all day?"

JP laughed. "Not this time. Now it's _your_ turn."

"My turn?"

"Sure." He leaned back and jabbed an accusing finger at her, although his face was still playful. "We've dated for almost a month, and the most you've told me is that you love Cajun food and the guitar. Who are _you,_ Barbara?"

Well, Andi couldn't get away with being the mystery woman forever. It was why she'd driven past the restaurant five times before pulling in; she'd seen it the whole time, but working up the courage to go in was a different story. Relationships were supposed to be based on honesty. On trust. Those were short on the ground for her. "Fair is fair. What do you want to—"

"Excuse me, can I take your order?"

Andi inwardly promised the waiter an extra tip for timing. "The jambalaya, please." She directed a bright smile at JP. "What about for you?"

"Crawfish." _He_ looked rather frustrated as he handed the waiter the menus, waited for him to pour their glasses of wine and put the hush puppies on the table. He arched an eyebrow at her and spoke up before she could change the subject. "You were saying?"

"Um, there's not much to tell, really." Andi shrugged. For all their physical differences, Jean Paul had that same unsettling gaze as Bruce, one that made her think he was seeing right through her. Lucky she'd learned to lie straight through it.

"No family to speak of. I, uh, grew up in Gotham, but…" _My best friends landed on the top of the FBI's most wanted list. Oh, and then they turned into psychopaths and decided to kill me._

Andi hitched her faltering smile back up. "Well, I guess I'm a bit of a free spirit. I like to travel a lot. And I never settle in one place or job." _Or alias or disguise or backstory. I've been here for two months and it's longer than I've had in a year._

"This is my first time back in Gotham for quite a while. I can't say I missed it too much, but it's… I don't know, for some reason this city has a hold on me. I can't quite forget it like I do other places." That much, at least, was true.

JP pursed his lips, like he was thinking over what she'd said. Just when Andi was beginning to think he wasn't going to say more, that she'd managed to get off easy, he cleared his throat.

"Who was he?"

Andi almost choked on the celebratory sip of wine she'd taken. "What are you talking about?"

"The guy who—" JP stopped. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But it's obvious that you're on the rebound."

"Oh really?" Andi gave a polite, disbelieving smile.

"Sure." He released her hand and began to tick off points on his fingers. "You got all reflective when you talked about Gotham, you're a 'free spirit' who says she's rusty with dating, and…" he gave her a mischievous grin, "you're the first girl I ever met who turned me down. Twice."

"Well, _someone_ thinks highly of himself," Andi muttered. His grin widened and, after a second's hesitation, hers did too.

She should deny everything, make some joke about rejecting him because she didn't want to date a nerdy computer analyst—even if he was the buffest nerd she'd ever met—and change the subject. But it had been such a long, long time since she could really talk to anyone, even in half truths.

"Alright then," she said. "There was… somebody."

"Who was he?"

_Bruce Wayne. The Batman. The man who kept me from going down the same road as Harley and Ivy. The only other person who lives a complete lie._ Andi found herself twisting her old GSU college ring, the way she always did when she got nervous. It had been returned ages ago, complete with a bat silhouette engraved on the band instead of her name. She hadn't been able to incorporate it into every alias, but doing it for 'Barbara Walker' and Gotham had felt right, somehow. "Businessman. Arrogant and spoiled, but good-hearted for all that. Nothing like you otherwise."

He nodded, encouraging, and Andi shrugged a bit. "I left Gotham because of him, you're right, but it's over and done now. I don't think he even knows I moved back here. He… he wasn't the guy I thought he was."

"What happened?"

"There was someone else." _Gotham._ "Someone that… he loved more than me. If I had stayed, it would have hurt everyone involved. He realized that and broke it off."

It had been the right choice. Andi could admit that, at least to herself. Batman couldn't let her come between him and his duty to protect Gotham, and they both knew it. Knew, too, that he'd never love her like she loved him, and that it wasn't fair to put her in that kind of relationship. But the memory of Bruce walking away while she begged him not to abandon her like everyone else had…

Andi forced a smile onto her lips. "So what about you? Any crazy exes I should know about?"

JP rolled his eyes and grinned. "Well, there was this one girl I met when the army had me stationed over in South Korea…"

They managed to keep the mood light through the rest of dinner. JP shared funny army stories, Andi chipped in with a couple invented ones from her childhood, and they sampled each other's food like some lovesick couple. It wasn't until JP stepped out to go to the bathroom that Andi felt the laughter fade.

She needed to end this. She knew she did. JP was a decent guy—a dream guy if she was being honest—and he really liked her. She couldn't lead him on, not when she'd have to disappear any day now. Not when everything he liked about her was a lie.

Maybe it had been a mistake to come back to Gotham. Gordon had been against it, and Andi knew it wasn't smart. But she'd wanted to return so badly, because in her mind, coming back to Gotham had become the same as _doing_ something. Tracking down Harley and Ivy, identifying criminals, figuring out what the Batman was up to. Something besides her endless running. Instead, Gordon had given her an even deeper cover and told her he was pulling her out at the first sign of trouble.

"Hey. Barbara, are you in there?"

Andi's head jerked up, the smile back on her face. JP grinned back, not noticing anything, and slid into his seat. "Do you want to come by my place after this? We could watch football, have a couple beers, hang out for a little bit…"

Andi shook her head. "Sorry, I've got an early morning conference call I'm supposed to be taking notes for; I should probably head home."

"Alright. Let me walk you out."

"What about the bill? We can go Dutch; I don't want you to always be the one paying."

"I already took care of it up front. And, yes, I left a good tip."

She laughed. It wasn't often that someone beat her to the punch on something. "The feminists must be rolling in their graves right now. Next thing I know, you'll beat your chest and drag a club around like a caveman."

"I could sling you over my shoulder and carry you to your car."

"With these shoes, I might just let you." Every new persona had its perks; Andi rather liked guitar music, and the reddish tone in her brown hair was surprisingly flattering, but that penchant for stilettos… Andi wasn't sure if it would be Harley and Ivy who killed her or the shoes.

JP walked out with her, then reached out and held the car door once she'd unlocked it. He kept it open after Andi slid inside, and leaned over the top to talk to her. "I'll call you?"

Andi smiled up at him. _I can't lie to him. He deserves better._ "That'd be great."

But she already knew she wouldn't call back.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all who read, favorited, followed, or reviewed! You guys rock!

A thousand thanks, again, to Lasgalendil and Shad0whuntress.


	3. Paranoia

**Chapter 3:** Paranoia

"Who is it?"

"Don't you have a peephole?" JP's voice. Andi relaxed and tensed at the same time.

"It's blocked by something green and… leafy," she said.

"Oh." The green-and-leafy-something pulled away, leaving a view of her sheepish boyfriend and an oversized fern. "Can I come in now?"

"Half a second." Andi replaced the baseball bat above the door, turned off the security system, undid the deadbolt, unlocked the two other locks, moved the chair she kept jammed under the handle, and threw open the door. JP grinned as he stepped inside.

"Are you hiding from the mob?"

"Have you seen the crime rates lately?"

"Sure. But I haven't heard of one yet where the criminal hid behind a potted plant to get in."

Considering Pam's line of work, that was a legitimate possibility. Unsure whether to laugh or panic at the image, Andi turned to said plant. "For me?"

"You said you didn't like flowers, so—" He hefted the basket so that the fern's fronds swung every which way, water droplets pattering on her carpet. Andi mentally decided to call it Swamp Thing. "I, uh, hope it's ok that I swung by."

What was she supposed to tell him? 'No, I was going to break up with you tomorrow?'

"That's so thoughtful," she said instead, looking around her shoebox-size apartment for somewhere she could put the monstrosity. She settled for gesturing at the middle of the table, although the thing was so big she wouldn't have space to eat now. Maybe she could sneak it to the trash once JP was gone.

He turned around before she could hide the look in her eye.

"You don't like it," he said, sighing. "Should have known. I'm awful with gifts, and I don't think the guy at the store was any better. I—"

"No. No, it's alright. I mean, yes, I'm not a big plant person, but it's…" Andi scrambled for something to say. "It's been a long time since anyone went out of their way for me. Thank you."

JP's face lit up like a floodlight with a crime boss strapped to it. Shoot, that hadn't been what Andi was after either. "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked. "We can toss the fern in the dumpster, then find a nice park…"

Andi couldn't find it in her to tell him 'no,' so she forced a smile instead. "Let me put on some shoes."

JP kept up a light conversation that kept the situation from getting awkward as they rode the rails to one of the better parks. He bought them lunch from a street vendor, and when he noticed Andi watching the kids flying kites, bought her one of those too. They never got it off the ground, but both of them laughed themselves silly watching him run around trying. They finally gave it up a couple of hours later, when it was almost time for dinner.

"That was great," he said as they headed back for the station, ignoring the odd looks the bright kite got from passersby.

"It was fun," Andi agreed, trying to ignore the guilt that was now lining her stomach like lead. JP gave her a grin.

"Want to get coffee before we go back?"

"Sure." Coffee was one of the few things all of her aliases had in common. JP tracked down a little shop, almost overrun by hipsters, and both of them got the same thing: plain, black, and strong enough to strip the enamel from their teeth.

She'd made it halfway through hers when Andi couldn't take it any more. Taking an extra-large gulp of coffee to prepare herself, she interrupted JP mid-sentence. "I've got a confession to make."

JP gave her a startled look. "Alright?"

"I…" She realized she was twisting her class ring—again—and made herself stop. "I like you, I do, but see there's this thing that I—I don't know if I can…" Damn it, why was this so hard? Why did she have to _like_ JP so much? "I'm sorry. I'm doing this badly. The thing is, JP… I just don't think this… whatever _this_ is… can work."

"I've got a confession to make too," JP said. Andi managed to meet his eyes and saw that, even now, his smile hadn't entirely disappeared.

"What's that?"

"I know you've been looking for a way to back out ever since the second date. And I've been trying to stop you the whole time."

She couldn't think of anything to say to that, so she settled for watching him.

"I thought it was me at first. But then, with what you said last night, and after today… I think I was wrong. It was that guy from Gotham, wasn't it? He burned you, Barbara, and he burned you bad."

"It's more complicated than that."

"Is it?"

_This must be how Bruce felt,_ Andi realized. _Not wanting to let me get close because his life had been taken over by something else._

It wasn't _fair._ She hadn't chosen this life the way he had; why did she have to pay that same price?

"Yeah. It's a lot more complicated."

"Alright, then. Maybe it is," JP allowed. "But let's simplify things. We had fun today. We can have it again tomorrow, and maybe the day after. I don't care what happened in your past, and I'm not looking at the future. Can't we just leave it at that?"

Andi stared at the kite, its ribbons fluttering in the breeze from the vent. How long had it been since she'd laughed like they had? Since she'd had someone she could relax with? Let her guard down, even a little? JP was a breath of fresh air, stability in a life that was never going to last.

She couldn't drag someone like that down.

"I can't," she muttered, hating herself and Bruce and Harley and Ivy all at once. "I'm sorry, JP, I _can't._"

She drained the coffee and stood. "I should get back home."

"Let me walk you." Andi opened her mouth to refuse and he held up his hand, palm out. "I'm not going to argue with your decision. I just want to make sure you get home safe. Have you seen the crime rates lately?"

Andi felt her lips twitch despite her best efforts. "Thanks."

* * *

The second she stepped onto her floor, Andi knew something was wrong. She'd never believed in a sixth sense, so there must have been tiny clues her subconscious picked up on, but she didn't know what they were. All she knew was that things were… off.

Thank heaven she'd left JP at the entrance to the building. Andi almost turned around and walked off, but stopped, reconsidered.

What was she going to do? Run to the police? Contact Gordon and put him in danger? If Harley and Ivy were here, she was already dead. Running would just make sure there were more people caught in the crossfire.

Andi braced herself and looked around the hall for some kind of weapon. But the place was empty, and maybe that was for the best; she already knew she couldn't bring herself to kill Harley and Ivy.

Sure enough, the door opened under her fingers instead of catching on any of the locks. Andi dug her manicured nails into her palm and nodded to herself.

She didn't know what she'd expected. A hail of bullets from Harley as she stepped through the door. Pam releasing a toxic gas. A tripwire that set off an explosion.

Instead, a total stranger glanced up at her, then back down at the file folder in his hands. "How was your date?"

Andi froze, her eyes sweeping him up and down. Tall, but less built than JP or Bruce, with short brown hair, and a professional looking suit. There was a pistol holstered at his belt, a sniper rifle—military grade—on the dining room table behind him, along with her bat.

Between the clothes and the weapons, he almost looked like James Bond, except that his sleeves were rolled up and, where a watch would be, a small, high-tech gun was strapped to his wrist.

"It's rude to invite yourself in to strangers' apartments."

"That's alright, Ms. Taylor." He didn't look up from his file. "I know you quite well."

'Ms. Taylor.'

For a second, Andi could only feel ice cold, spreading from her spine to the rest of her body. Then something snapped into place and her mind went into overdrive. _Think._ Her brain was the only weapon she had left, but it was the best one she had. _Think. You've got this._

"What do you want?"

"Who says I want anything?"

"Come on," Andi said. "You don't want me dead, you want to intimidate me. The only reason to bring that big of a rifle to a small room like this is scare tactics. And you'd want a silencer on your other guns if you were going to use them so that the neighbors wouldn't get curious. You don't have one. Which means you want something besides my dead body."

He finally lowered the file and met her gaze. His eyes were dull green, only a shade away from colorless, and they saw… not through her, like the cliché would say. No, they saw _everything,_ from the smudge in her eyeliner to each dust mote twisting in the air. Andi was just a tiny piece of that vision, accounted for and put in her place like any of the other objects.

"You're better than I expected," he said.

_He's trying to make me fear him. Can't let him see that it's working._

As nonchalantly as she could manage, Andi walked into the kitchenette and grabbed the Folgers out of her fridge. She tried to ignore the fact that, with her apartment as small as it was, they could touch each other if they both reached out their arms. "Coffee?"

"More coffee?"

Andi raised her eyebrows. "You _don't_ know me if you asked that question. Last chance if you want any."

"No."

She looked again at the gun strapped to his wrist. Caffeine. Tremors. "Ah."

Andi didn't think she was really pulling off the carefree act, but her visitor was silent while the coffee brewed and that, at least, helped her regain her composure.

"So," she said as she poured the coffee into her travel mug—she had a feeling she wasn't sticking around for long—and looked at him. "How long have you been following me?"

There was no change in his face, not even a tightening around his eyes, but Andi somehow _felt_ his amusement, as sharp as cut glass.

"Since last week."

"Why come out of the woodwork now?"

"To give you this." Ignoring the way Andi tensed, he walked up to the high counter that divided her kitchen and dining room and dropped the file folder on it. Andi forced herself to keep her gaze off the gun attached to his arm and watched his eyes instead. She didn't move toward it until he'd backed up to where he'd been earlier.

"What is it?" she asked.

"My profile."

Andi picked it up, but didn't open it. "Explain."

"I've been hired to kill you."

The way he said it—the same neutral tone, same unmoved expression as he'd had the whole time—was somehow worse than the words themselves. Andi's back crawled, like there were spiders walking down it.

"Still not following."

"I have employed by Doctors Quinzel and Isley, for over a month now," he said. "First to find information on you, and then to follow and kill you. But it seems Dr. Isley prefers to give you a sporting chance. She ordered me to make contact with you first and inform you of my plans."

_I wonder how Pam talked Harley into that._

Unless she hadn't, of course. Unless she'd gone ahead and risked Harley's wrath in order to warn Andi. For all that their friendship was long dead, Andi couldn't help but cheer up just a little at the thought.

"So this is a warning shot," she said, opening the folder and forcing herself to look at it instead of him. She couldn't make her eyes focus on the words, though.

"If you like."

Andi looked back up at him and felt her breath catch—right there, on her mysterious visitor's chest, was a glowing red dot. A sniper's sight.

She wrenched her eyes away from it. _Distract him._

"How long do I have?"

His eyes were glistening, dead, and as observant as ever. Andi didn't know how, but she was convinced in that second that he not only knew about the laser sight, but where the sniper was and when he would fire.

"Be ready."

It all happened at once. He threw himself to the side, a shot cracked, and her apartment filled with white smoke. Andi dropped to the floor, head down, praying that she wasn't being targeted too, that the gas wasn't poisonous. It drifted around her like fog, and she tried to hold what breath was left in her chest.

Her sight was gone, but she could hear the sound of him moving with absurd clarity. A faint, scraping noise as he picked up his rifle, his unhurried footsteps as he headed past her, and then the click of her door opening and shutting.

Andi wasn't sure what to do, whether to stay or leave, but the choice was made for her; her empty lungs burned, and she gasped in a breath before she could stop herself.

Nothing. No worse than campfire smoke. Her visitor must have released it to give himself cover.

Andi pushed herself to her hands and knees, collected the spilled papers and her mug. One of her heels had snapped, and she kicked them off, still not standing up straight. The smoke was clearing, and if the unknown sniper was targeting her as well, she didn't want to get up from behind the counter and give him a clear shot.

Before she could decide what to do next, the door opened again and a silhouette—tall, male, muscled—walked in. "Barbara? Barbara are you alive?"

"JP." Andi breathed a sigh of relief before her mind caught up with her mouth. JP. Who she'd just broken up with, who should be on the other side of Gotham by now… and instead, he was here. As if he'd known there would be trouble.

He walked up to her, pulled her to her feet with one hand. His other held a pistol, and even with more than half her weight leaning on him, he still scanned the room with his eyes, ready to use it.

"Is he still here?"

"What?"

"The guy who broke in. Is he still here?"

"N-No. No."

JP dropped her arm and prowled through her apartment. Andi watched dumbly through the clearing smoke as he checked her cupboards, linen closet, slipped into her bedroom and bathroom. He came back out, shaking his head, and slipped the gun back into a concealed holster in his jacket.

Regular army grunts didn't move like that. Not even special-ops guys. The only other person he came close to was the Batman, and she knew he wasn't that.

"Who are you?" Andi whispered, feeling like her mind was trapped in molasses. Too much, it was all to much, piling on at once and sucking her under.

He gave her the same big, crooked grin as he had on their date last night, but now she couldn't find anything charming in it at all.

"My name is Azrael and I work for the Order of St. Dumas. I'm here to protect you."

* * *

**Author's Note: **O.o

Poor Andi really does have the worst luck with men... or friends in general, come to think of it. And yes yes yes, congrats to those of you who knew JP was up to something; as if I'd ever drop a character after one chapter.

Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!


	4. Run

**Chapter 4:** Run

Andi stayed still and stiff for so long that JP snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Hey. Barbara, you ok? C'mon, I can't be worse than the killer who was just in here, and you did fine with him."

She jumped and looked at him. "That was you, then? Shooting at him?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Ok."

They were silent for another few seconds. Andi was still trying to pull herself together, when JP shook his head. "We have to get out of here. Grab what you need and let's go."

Andi nodded and headed to her room, automatically shutting the door behind her. She grabbed the knapsack she kept stashed in the corner, ready to leave, then realized her feet were bare, and went to grab socks. By the time she was tying her shoes—sturdy, good-soled hiking boots, and that was a relief if nothing else—she'd managed to collect herself a little. Gordon. Had to tell Gordon what had happened. She grabbed her cellphone.

JP knocked, then poked his head in while she was dialing his number.

"Good thinking," he said. "We need to get rid of that so we can't be traced. Here, I'll take it."

Andi stared at his outstretched hand and gripped her phone just a little tighter. "I think I'll hold onto it. Thanks."

"Don't be stupid, Barbara."

"I appreciate your help, but I have a—a friend who can get me somewhere safe. I just need to call and I'll be fine. You don't need to stick around."

"Can't risk it."

"That's my decision, not yours."

JP drew his hand back and folded his arms. He was standing much straighter, suddenly, his muscles and height more obvious than ever. "Look, Barbara. We can do this where I force the phone away from you, and you'll be terrified and I'll be frustrated and it'll waste time. Or we can skip that part. Ends the same either way, but this way we avoid it getting messy."

Any hope Andi had had that he was there to help fluttered and died. She passed him the phone.

"The one in your bag too."

"No."

He grinned. "I knew you had another."

Andi grit her teeth.

"C'mon, Barbara, let's not go through the whole song and dance again. Unless you want me grabbing it off your back sorting through your underwear, I suggest you hand it over."

Andi stared at him. How had she ever found him attractive? Thought he was honest and that she'd found someone she could open up to for once?

"I really liked you, you know," she said as she sorted through the bag. "I let my guard down, let myself be vulnerable… I even broke up with you so that you wouldn't get dragged down by my baggage. God, I'm such an idiot."

She didn't know what expression she expected—and evil villain smile, maybe—but when she looked up, JP seemed almost stricken.

"Here," she said, thrusting the phone at him.

"I'm not out to hurt you, Barbara. I promise."

"Right. Because you're so trustworthy."

He sighed and headed back to her living room. "Let's go."

Andi stuffed the file Ivy had sent into her bag and zipped it back up. After a second's hesitation, she grabbed her barely-drunk coffee too. She was beginning to get an idea.

She expected to see JP destroying her cell phones when she stepped into the living room, but instead he'd just set them on the counter and was fiddling with something on the floor. Before she could get a good look he stood up, blocking her view. "Got everything you need? You won't be coming back."

Andi looked around. She'd been here for two months, and the apartment looked like one of those home models you saw with a realtor; pretty and neat as a pin, without pictures or personal knick-knacks or even a movie collection. She headed for the door without a word.

The elevator ride down was tense, silent. Andi stared at JP, not sure what she was expecting him to do—attack, maybe. He kept his gaze mostly on the door, though, and the few times he _did_ look at her, he avoided her eyes.

Darkness was just starting to fall when they made it outside, and the streets were less crowded. Before Andi could think of any crazy escape attempts, he gripped her upper arm—not painfully, but firm enough that she made no progress when she instinctively tried to squirm away.

"Where to?" Andi asked, trying and failing to sound as if this was no more than another date.

"Here." He led her to a bench across the street and, once they'd both sat down, gave her her arm back. Andi looked around, wondering what game he was playing, but JP just sat back a little and watched the apartment rather than her.

"I'm sure you have questions. Don't scream them out at the street and I'll try to answer them for you. Deal?"

Andi nodded, trying to think things through. "Is your name really JP?"

"Yeah. Jean Paul Valley's not an alias. I was born with it_._ I just… happen to do some clandestine work. When I don't want to be known, I use Azrael as a codename."

"Clandestine work for the Sacred Order of St. Dumas."

"You know who we are, then? We tend to keep out of the public eye."

"Except when you shot a judge last year."

"That guy? He was taking bribes to ignore human trafficking."

"And a federally protected witness."

"A thug who'd worked for the mob and turned in his teammates for a grudge. He'd killed as much as anyone, but suddenly he was supposed to get a free pass? Maybe the courts accept that, but we don't."

Andi stared at him for a few seconds. "Yeah? And what about the two marshals protecting him? Did they deserve to die too?"

He grimaced. "The Order's fighting some really terrible people. There are costs. We have to be willing to get our hands dirty."

Words from another lifetime echoed in her head. _"If he thinks killing innocent people to get what he wants is right, he's even more dangerous, sir. That makes him a fanatic."_

"Your hands might be dirty. But it sounds like the brainwash they did on you was extra strong."

"You don't get to make that call!" JP snapped. "I'm not a monster." When Andi didn't answer, he took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself. "For what it's worth, I keep all my kills clean. Just the target, no one else."

"Excuse me while I go call the Nobel prize committee." For a second, Andi was afraid that she'd pushed too far, that JP would turn on her. But even though his eyes tightened a little bit, he turned back to staring across the street and didn't say anything. Andi decided to change the topic.

"You aren't really out to protect me, are you? You're after that—that man that was in my apartment."

"His name's Floyd Lawton," JP said. "Better known as Deadshot in the intelligence community. One of the deadliest assassins in the world."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I am after him. But since you're his target…"

"I'm bait."

"He's not killing anyone else. Including you." There was an edge to JP's tone, worse than when Andi had pushed his buttons. It was the aggression of an angry animal. He paused, finally looked straight at her, and didn't let his voice soften this time. "Who hired him? Who wants you dead?"

"You don't know?" Andi asked.

"I know you aren't really Barbara. I've traced you back a year and almost half a dozen other aliases, but before that, no. I don't know who you are or what you're running from."

Andi snorted a bitter, brief laugh. "You may as well call me Andi," she said, watching him closely. The way he blinked in surprise made her think he really _hadn't_ known her name. Good. A first name didn't give much away, and it let her know that he was telling the truth. Probably. Maybe. "All the crazies do."

"Fine."

They were quiet again, not so much because Andi didn't have questions—there were a thousand left, all pounding on the inside of her skull like prisoners trying to escape—but because she had a feeling she'd pushed him far enough for now. She took a long, slow, drink of coffee and tried to figure out her next move.

"Not that this hasn't been nice," she finally said. "But I thought after all the cloak-and-dagger with the phones that we were going on the run or something. What are we waiting around here for? Is someone supposed to pick us up?"

"I work alone," JP said. "And I'm waiting for your apartment to explode."

"You're _what?_"

"I'm not stupid, Bar—Andi. I know you've got friends who've helped you go underground before, so I wired your apartment with explosives while you were packing. I need them to think you're dead so they'll stay out of my way."

"And won't come for me." Gordon. She had to find a way to tell Gordon she was still alive, who had taken her. Had to… She looked down at her mug and set her shoulders.

"I evacuated your neighbors, by the way. Told them about the gas leak. Unfortunately, it looks like Barbara Walker didn't get the warning. Tragic."

Andi stood and, like she'd hoped, JP did too. She stared at the apartment like it was all that she could think about, but most of her mind was on her left hand. More specifically, on twisting off the top of her coffee cup with it.

"How long until it goes off?" she asked.

"Right about… now."

Nothing happened for ten long seconds. Just when Andi was about to turn and give JP a wry look, there was a roar like a dragon, a blaze of orange ten stories above them. Before the shattered glass reached the ground, Andi spun around and splashed the scalding coffee straight at JP's face.

He ducked, of course and batted the mug away, but Andi took advantage of the distraction and gathering crowd and sprinted away.

JP caught up after less than twenty seconds and trapped her—knapsack and all—in a bear hug so tight that her feet came off the ground.

"I told you I'm not out to hurt you." His mouth was so close to her ear she could feel his breath. "That doesn't mean I won't if you force my hand. Try a stunt like that again, and I'll make sure you _can't_ run, understand?"

Cold defiance straightened her spine—Andi didn't respond, _refused_ to—but JP dropped her anyway. When she turned around, one of his hands was resting over where she now knew he kept his gun.

"Come on," he said, his voice almost apologetic.

"Where?"

"On the run."

* * *

"When you said 'on the run,' I pictured something a little more… clandestine," Andi said as she stepped onto their floor. "A five star hotel?"

"The Luxe caters to a unique clientele—they're used to keeping their mouths shut. We'll have to move in a few days, but for now it should be safe. I figured you'd appreciate this more than the safehouse in the Narrows to start with."

Andi shrugged. She'd grown up in the Narrows, and couldn't help but think that she might be able to make a run for it there. Here, where she needed a key just to work the elevator, chances of escape were slim.

JP held the door open to the room they were sharing; they had just checked in a couple minutes ago, but there was already a suitcase laid out on the bed and two boxes of what turned out to be fancy computer equipment. He headed straight over to them and started assembling everything—Andi recognized some of it from Bruce's cave, high tech stuff and expensive.

"What's all that for?"

"Tracking Deadshot. Communicating without being traced. Monitoring for Batman."

"Batman?" Andi hoped that her voice was neutral enough.

"Yeah. He tends to get involved in stuff like this. Not sure if he'd be on my side or not, so…"

"He tends not to be on anyone's side."

JP gave her a sharp look, and Andi was worried that she'd said too much, but after a second he grinned. "Knew you were from Gotham originally. Come on in, you're sticking around for awhile."

Andi did, giving the room's one bed a wary glance as she passed it.

"I'll take the floor," JP said. He was looking back at his equipment again, but Andi saw the tops of his ears turn scarlet. "Uh, you can go ahead and sleep if you want; I'll be up working on this for awhile. Here, let me dim the light."

"Don't bother," Andi said. "I need to go shower first. Change clothes." _Have a nervous breakdown._

JP just pointed over his shoulder at the bathroom with a screwdriver, so Andi went in, closed and locked the door behind her, and then collapsed against it, sinking slowly down to her feet. Her breathing was ragged in her ears.

_One more thing,_ she told herself. _Do one more thing, and then you can rest._

She stood slowly and headed to the shower, turned on the water so JP couldn't hear her. Then she sat on the closed toilet lid and pulled Deadshot's file out of her bag.

It was thick—a five page biography, a much longer list of kills, three psychiatric profiles, a physical assessment, weapons analyses, forensic evidence, information on the agencies and agents assigned to track him down. Andi knew there was no way JP would give her enough time to read and memorize everything she needed to, so she skimmed through it until she came to the last page, handwritten in green ink.

After all the ways she'd changed, it was strange that Pam's flourishing scrawl was still the same.

_Andi,_

_ I'm sorry things turned out this way._

_ I convinced Harley to hire Deadshot. If his reputation is true, he's given you this folder and let you go. If not, I guess you're already dead. But if you're reading this, then you should know a few things._

_ This man is the best. If he's hired to kill, injure, or save someone, he does it. Perfectly. He's not like you or I; there's no line he won't cross, no sense of self-preservation, no moral code. Except the one that made me choose him._

_ Whoever holds Deadshot's contract becomes his god._

_ I met him once. When I asked about his loyalty, he said it was absolute and offered us a trial. Harley thought that was hilarious—she thinks that about most things—and ordered him to stab himself in the stomach._

_ He almost died._

_ But that was what convinced me to hire him. Any other assassin would kill you, no hesitation. I'm trying to give you a fighting chance against him, and I trust him to obey—_

Andi growled under her breath and flipped the page over, even though she knew there was nothing on the back. Nor was there anything else from Ivy in the folder, and nothing had fallen out into her bag when she checked.

_Harley must have walked in,_ Andi decided. _She couldn't finish._

What had she been about to say? Andi couldn't be sure, but she had a guess. Deadshot had given her a file folder on him and what he'd done. He'd been ordered to leave her alone for some amount of time. She bet Ivy had given him other handicaps, enough that Andi could work out an escape if she put her mind to it.

Of course, Andi could be wrong. And even if she wasn't, there was her boyfriend-turned-psychopath who was keeping her prisoner here.

Nothing for it. She had to take what she could from Pam's warning and leave it at that. Andi read the letter through three more times, and then again just to be sure. Then she undressed, stuck the paper under the showerhead, and shredded it into tiny pieces, feeding them down the drain bit by bit. If JP saw this, it wouldn't be hard for him to figure out who Andi was, and she didn't plan on sharing that information any time soon. Only when that was done did she finally allow herself to get into the shower and collapse in a jittery, nervous wreck.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Ha ha, you only _thought_ Andi had gotten lucky and fallen in with a nice guy for once.

Also, I just thought I'd let you know that if you go to my profile, you can find links to my 'cast list' for different characters. There's JP/Azrael and Deadshot/Lawton under _Untrusted_, while Andi, Harley, and Ivy are under _Unmasked. _Presumably you can figure out Batman for yourself.

Thanks so much to everyone who's read and responded so far; you guys make my day! If you're a new reader and/or lurker, feel free to send me a PM or drop a review-I promise I'm not nearly as mean in person as I am to my characters. :)


	5. Search

**Chapter 5: **Search

Batman waited until Gordon stood up to stretch and dropped from the window into the Commissioner's office.

"What have you found?"

Instead of his usual jump or curse, Gordon's shoulders drooped. He turned around slowly.

"You can't find her either?"

He didn't answer.

"I don't know who the hell it is. Don't even know if she's alive. There's no sign of a body, but with a blast like that… well, there might be nothing _to_ find." He shook his head. "Do you have anything?"

Batman handed him an evidence bag with a coffee mug.

"Taylor's? Where was it?"

"Outside her apartment. It has her prints, DNA, and traces of her usual brand of coffee."

"Hold on. _You_ remember what kind of coffee she—" Gordon cut off under Batman's glare. "Uh, continue."

"It also has partial fingerprints from a Jean Paul Valley."

"You think—what, that she's alive? That he kidnapped her?" Gordon whistled under his breath as Batman placed the analysis on his desk. "How the hell would she bait him into giving her _those?_"

When Batman didn't speak, he shrugged. "Guess it doesn't matter. Who is he?"

"Former Army Ranger, discharged five years ago. Frequent travel, high income, unemployed."

"So a mercenary."

"Or extremist. Suggested ties to St. Dumas."

"St. Dumas?" Gordon said. "What the hell would they want with Taylor? Does he think he can get to Harley and Ivy through her?"

"I don't know. Or how the Order knows she's alive."

"I, uh, think I know that one," Gordon said. "She contacted me when she first moved back to Gotham. Two weeks later, they found a bug in my office. I thought it was the mob, but—"

"Where is it?"

"Got it out of evidence a couple hours ago. They didn't find anything, but I thought you might. Here." He tried to smile. "Kind of makes me wish we had Taylor around to analyze it."

Batman picked up the plastic bag. "I'll look into it. We have bigger worries now."

"You think Harley and Ivy are back?"

"Maybe. This kidnapping might have nothing to do with them. It might mean that they're back in Gotham. I have to look."

"And Taylor?"

"If Harley and Ivy are back, hundreds of people are in danger. We have to prioritize."

"What are you saying?"

He wanted to vanish into the shadows, but Gordon's unblinking stare made that impossible even for Batman.

"You're just going to leave her?" Gordon demanded. "Abandon her until it's, what, _convenient?_"

"You have the luxury to care about one person more than the city. I don't." Batman glared again, but wasn't anger he felt. It was envy; Gordon could still care. "She's alive. She's smart enough to know I won't save her."

They stayed like that, locked in a standoff.

"Alright," Gordon finally said. "Alright. You do what you have to. But you understand what this means? You're giving up Taylor to save Gotham, and she might die because of it. Can you do that?"

Batman pressed a button on his wrist and the lights flickered.

"I already did. Two years ago."

Gordon glanced at the fading lights and Batman disappeared.

* * *

Andi didn't sleep well that night.

Not surprising. She'd been an insomniac since around the time that she'd first met Batman, and having JP in the same room didn't help. She kept jerking awake, half-convinced she'd talked in her sleep or that he was standing over her.

She finally gave up around 4:30 AM, feeling even more exhausted than when she'd gone to bed. JP was stretched out on the floor, a reading light on, the file Deadshot had given her spread out in front of him. When he heard Andi sit up, his hand flexed towards his gun, then relaxed when he saw it was just her.

"How'd you get this information?"

"Deadshot gave it to me," Andi said. No point in lying—anything she made up would be even less believable than the truth. "I guess whoever hired him wants me to know what I'm up against."

"Some of this is stuff even I didn't know about, and I've been hunting him for quite awhile now."

"But it all checks out?"

"Yeah. That's the crazy thing. There's information in here that can hurt him—and you're saying he just _gave _it to you?"

Andi didn't say anything, thinking of Pam's note. Loyalty. But she had more important things to worry about, because JP was looking at her with no small degree of suspicion. She needed to head him off before he started another interrogation. Andi threw a bathrobe over her pajamas, then padded over to the desk to take a seat there; she needed to seem invulnerable and half-asleep, buried under a mound of covers, wasn't the way to do it.

"We both know Deadshot could have killed me yesterday," she said. "He didn't, and not because of you. That means one of two things. He wants something from me, or he wants to draw out the chase, make me scared. I think it's the latter."

"Why?"

"You saw him yesterday. He showed up with a giant gun, broke into my home, showed me exactly how vulnerable I am. Classic intimidation strategies. And I think that file—" Andi nodded at it. "—is part of the same. It shows me how capable he is and how very little I can do to stop him."

"Why? Who hates you that much?"

"No one good, that's who."

"I know you don't like it, but I _am_ protecting you from Deadshot. If anyone deserves to know—"

"Don't you dare try to pull that! I didn't want you within ten miles of this mess; this whole 'protection' scheme is your idea, not mine."

They glared at each other.

"I just want to help you," JP said, his voice so tight it sounded like it might snap. "Whatever you think of my methods, I'm trying to keep you safe."

"But I'm _not_ safe. I never will be. The things I know—the things I've seen and done—are _dangerous_, JP. You think I'm just going to hand them out like candy? You'll have to scare me a lot more than that."

"Is that what you want?" JP asked. He stood up slowly, walked closer to her until he was towering overhead. "Me to scare it out of you? I could, you know."

Andi stared up at him and forced herself to breathe. Her body had gone cold and very, very still. "You could try."

Slowly, so slowly she almost thought it was a fake out, JP spread his hands, backed up, and sat on the floor again. "That's what you're waiting for isn't it? You think I'm that kind of person, and you're just waiting for it to show."

"Am I wrong?"

"Yeah. You are."

He went back to staring at the files. Andi swallowed, feeling like she'd come up from under deep water. When JP didn't look at her, she stared at the opposite wall until she was calmed down—zoned out almost.

The computer beeped behind her. Andi, lost in thought, jumped so hard that she knocked her elbow on the desk. Before she could find whatever was making the noise, JP came up behind her.

"I'll need to see that," he said. "You mind?"

"Sure." Andi stood up and started flicking on the lights. "Any chance of getting room service?"

"Not until six-thirty. They've got a menu in the nightstand if you want to look."

Andi flipped through it, then, when JP was engrossed in his computer work, set it down and moved to look at Deadshot's information instead. JP saw her do it, she was sure—she wasn't so much trying to hide what she was doing as avoid making a big production out of it—but he didn't say anything.

Considering she was half-fugitive, half-prisoner, the rest of the day passed quietly enough. JP stayed occupied with his computers, so Andi worked her way through Deadshot's information, deciding to memorize the basics before she started looking for patterns. Breakfast was ordered, then lunch. JP disappeared at some point in the afternoon, taking the key with him, along with the computers' batteries and power cords. Andi's attempts to break out or use the hotel phone while he was gone were as fruitless as she'd expected. And the rueful smile on JP's face when he came back and found her sitting quietly, pretending that she hadn't moved at all, made her think he'd set up cameras. Either that or he knew she was waiting for her chance to get away.

They were still working at their spots midway through dinner—Indian takeout instead of room service this time—when Andi finally spotted it: JP's name buried in one of the old police reports.

"You worked with the police?"

"I talked to them. Once." His voice was casual—too casual. "Double murder. I found the bodies the morning after and they took my statement."

Andi paused to check the dates. Five years ago. "I didn't realize you've been hunting Deadshot for that long."

"Those were the kills that made me start looking for him."

Andi pushed her curry aside, considering. She'd assumed JP was assigned here by the Order, and maybe he was, but to have been hunting this long, the way he'd talked about Deadshot, the fact that he was here without backup…

"It was personal, wasn't it? The two guys Deadshot killed—Mark Greeley and Steven Anselm—did they mean anything to you?"

JP was quiet, staring at his food. Andi argued with herself, then decided to push; if she was going to have any chance of getting away from JP, she needed to understand him.

"Look, if you tell me to buzz off, I will. But you keep wanting me to open up, and if I'm even going to think about that, I need to know who you are and if I can trust you."

Silence. Then—

"No. I never met them."

"I'm sensing a 'but' in there."

JP sighed. "I'd been out of the army for six months when I found their bodies. Former Ranger, and I'd managed to land on my feet; I was working on my college degree, dating a girl. Had everything under control. But there was—something was off. Everyone here's so convinced we're at peace and there's nothing bad out there. And I tried to persuade myself that it was me who was messed up, that everything was good and the war was over."

"Clearly you don't know Gotham as well as you think," Andi muttered.

"Do you want me to finish telling you this or what?"

"Sorry."

"They were lying on the street when I found them; everyone else was avoiding the bodies. Two SEALs on shore leave, convinced that they were safe. That the wars weren't happening here, and it was all good. You know how long the police looked into their deaths? Week and a half. Guess everyone's so eager to believe there's no war, nothing to worry about, that they'll ignore anything.

"Something snapped. I said I was hunting their killer because the police wouldn't do the job, but—hell, I don't know. Maybe I'm just meant to be a soldier. I found out about Deadshot three weeks in, and that's when the Order tracked me down and offered to help."

Andi stared at him, trying to think of what to say. _Compassionate. Sincere. Friendly, but don't lay it on too thick. Don't try to pretend that you've been exactly in his shoes, he won't like that._

"You have got to be kidding me."

_Or you can just insult him. That works too._

"Excuse me?" JP sounded almost as incredulous as she was, but her tight control had already slipped and there was no point in holding back now.

"You saw two dead guys and decided the best response was to turn into a terrorist? You found a broken system and decided to smash it to pieces to get your way? Brilliant plan. Gold star."

"What would you know about it?"

"A hell of a lot more than you think!" Andi snapped. "It's all the same with you people isn't it—murdered parents, poisoned sister, psychopath knifing people, and you think it's some kind of excuse. Well I've got news for you: it's not. You don't get to just run off and become an assassin because life isn't fair!"

"That's rich coming from you, Andrea Taylor!"

Andi stared at him.

"How do you know my name?"

"I'm not stupid. I've been searching since I found out Deadshot was targeting you." JP turned one of the monitors toward her, just enough that she could see her old obituary. "Someone dangerous wants you dead, so I looked through known and former associates of anyone on the FBI's radar. Guess whose picture showed up on Harley _and_ Ivy's list of acquaintances? Could have hidden that a little deeper."

"Didn't seem like there was much point," Andi said. "They know I'm alive. No one else cared enough to come looking."

"Yeah. Until I did. Care to fill me in?"

"No." Andi was still trying to piece together what he knew. Harley and Ivy, obviously. Her other aliases? Gordon's involvement? Batman? Better not to say anything until she was sure she wasn't revealing anyone's secrets.

JP gave her a smile, but now there was nothing good-natured in it at all.

"Alright then. My turn to play detective. They hate you, they've been chasing you across the country for years, and now they hired Deadshot to kill you. That right?"

"Yeah." So far, so obvious. And no one could be hurt by that much information.

"Why? They've never gone after anyone else from their pasts. So why you? Was it because you're oh-so-innocent and refused to join up? Or is it something else? Something darker?"

The Joker's laugh echoed in her ears. Andi shut her eyes, trying to get it out, but it was like a song stuck in her head. When she opened them again, JP was nodding.

"Guess I have my answer."

Andi tried to force the words out. She didn't blame herself for what had happened, and she knew that JP wouldn't either if he knew the truth. But God help her, she couldn't do it. Couldn't dredge up the memories of that awful night again, of Harley promising to kill her, of the Joker…

She couldn't defend herself. So she attacked instead.

"We're wasting time," she said. "If you're going to punish me for crimes you _think_ I've committed, go ahead. But if you're done digging into my past, let's do what we should have from the start and focus on Deadshot."

"Oh, so it's 'we' now, is it? Willing to help all of a sudden?"

"I want to stay alive," Andi said. "And if you won't leave me alone, my best chance for that is to make sure that you stop Deadshot."

JP looked like he wanted to refuse, so Andi folded her arms and glared at him.

"You've been chasing him on and off for five years. Whatever you've been doing, it clearly doesn't work. And we might hate each other, but that doesn't mean we don't have the same goal. Stop him and get me out of here alive."

She could see the two sides warring on JP's face. On the one hand he didn't trust her. Not a smidge, and there was nothing Andi could do to change that. On the other, he hated Deadshot more, and was obviously floundering. Good sense versus desperation.

"Can you do it?" JP asked, and Andi knew that she had won. "Do you really think you can figure him out?"

"You do know what my job was before this whole thing started, right?"

"Yeah. A forensic scientist. But you've been off the grid for years and there aren't any crime scenes this time. If you're going to help me, I need to know that you're an asset, not a liability." He paused, and his next words were so forceful that he paused between each one. _"Can—you—do—this?"_

Andi thought of Batman, Ivy, Harley, and the Joker. The deadliest people in the world. She'd tracked them all, negotiated with them, fought them… or killed them. Her lips twisted up into something between a smile and a snarl.

"Trust me. Deadshot messed with the wrong target."

* * *

**Author's Note: **There y'all go! Bruce is back in the game. Feel free to throw rotten fruit at _him_ for being a jerk, just not at the author who wrote him that way. *Shields face and runs away.*

It's a little known fact (um, unless you've read my other fics, that is), but in addition to writing, I also prevent the destruction of several helpless villages by keeping a monster trapped in my basement. The thing is, he breaks free if he doesn't get fed on San Antonio Spurs' victories or lots of juicy reviews, and considering our current losing streak... well.

Save a life. Leave a review. ;)


	6. Deduction

**Chapter 6**: Deduction

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

JP looked up from where he was flopped on the floor, munching an apple. They had moved from the Luxe two days ago to an unoccupied office near the docks. It still had state of the art security and computers, but someone had forgotten to order furniture; Andi was sitting cross-legged on her sleeping bag, a printout of old forensic analyses in front of her.

"Sure," JP said.

"The person who hired Deadshot to kill those soldiers. Did you ever find out who he or she was?"

"No. I was hoping your file would tell me, but it was empty. I figure if I get Deadshot, I can make him tell me."

"I… don't think that'll work."

"Why not?"

"What I've been researching. It's too late to follow him physically, so I've been trying to get into his head. He's not going to talk."

JP gave her a look that held more darkness than Andi really wanted to see. "Everyone talks if you ask the questions the right way."

"Not everyone. And not all questions. People hold out for things like friends, family, religion…"

"Alright, I'll give you that, but employers?"

"That's the thing. I don't think Deadshot thinks of them as just employers."

JP cocked his head but looked intrigued. Andi took that as a sign to continue.

"I started getting suspicious when he gave me this folder on Harley and Ivy's orders." _When I found Pam's letter._ "He had to know I'd use it to fight back. And if I died, he could have just planted it next to my body and said that I'd received it. Instead he obeyed orders with zero incentive."

"Maybe they found some way to guarantee that he'd obey."

"That's what I thought. So I started looking through his records… JP, it's a miracle he hasn't died with the things he's done under orders. He put two children inside a rigged building, then walked right back into the explosion to get them out when his employer changed his mind. He turned himself in to the police once, was five minutes away from the lethal injection—and then he got word the guy who was paying needed him again, and broke out in two minutes flat. He's shot and stabbed himself so many times to prove his loyalty that it's become something of a tradition for employers to request it."

"So he's a good soldier."

"It's more than that. It's like… like…" Andi struggled for better words than Pam had used but couldn't find them. "Whoever holds his contract becomes his God. He doesn't obey for the money, he obeys because he… he thinks it's the right thing to do. And if I'm right, that means that the odds of getting him to talk…"

"Shit." JP stood up and paced, rubbing his short hair. "It makes too much sense, doesn't it?"

"Which brings us back to those soldiers he killed. Greeley and Anselm."

"Huh?" JP paused, his hair all standing up in spikes. "How do you mean?"

"Whatever special place an employer holds in his mind, it vanishes once his contract's over. It has to—Deadshot's killed plenty of former employers. And the file tells me who's hired him for past jobs, presumably because those people are no longer paying him. But he kept quiet about your case with the dead soldiers. Which means…"

"Those people are still paying him."

Andi bit her lip, trying to decide how best to walk him through her theories. She had to tread carefully here, or JP would laugh her off—and she was finally getting him to trust her. She couldn't go too wild with her speculation.

"There's more to it than that," she said after a minute. "I doubt anyone cares if I know who did it. What's one more employer on the list? I wouldn't have paid attention.

"But _you_. You're a different story; if you'd seen it, you'd go after them with a vengeance. The person who did this doesn't just know you're after Deadshot. They know what you're doing _right now."_

"Slow down. How would they know that?"

"Because they knew you would find me."

Andi wanted to keep talking, but stopped herself just in time. She had more—suspicions on what it all added up to, who had been behind the killing—but she needed to see where JP's head was at before she voiced them, or things could go very south.

He didn't say anything, though, and after a minute, Andi shrugged and turned back to her notes.

"Why do you care?" JP asked.

"What?"

"Deadshot's after _you._ Whatever happened with those soldiers, it doesn't make a difference in your fate—I'm still hunting him first, and I'm still protecting you. So why do you want to know so badly?"

Andi caught the glib response on the tip of her tongue and swallowed it back. There was something about the way JP was looking at her—this was sacred ground as far as he was concerned. If she was a smart aleck, or even if she said the truth, that she had a pathological need to know everything, he'd clam up. She couldn't let that happen.

"It's what you told me about the police," she said instead. "And how they stopped looking so quickly. I was at MCU, not homicide, when it happened, but you're right. We should have done more. I guess I… maybe if I help you, I can make up for that. A little."

She all but held her breath, hoping she'd said the right thing. For all that she'd started to get used to JP over the past few days, she still didn't trust him exactly.

"Keep digging."

* * *

"It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe not, Mr. Wayne, but I ran the test three times, and it says the same thing." Fox pushed the evidence bag across his desk to Bruce. Inside was the bug Gordon had given him to look into. "The device's chemical make-up includes tantalum. It's common to lots of technology, especially cell phones, and it's—"

"Mined unethically in the Congo. Its sale fuels wars, mass murders, child labor…"

"I'm afraid so," Fox said. "Where did you say you found this, again?"

"Attached to a phone line in an employee's office. But the people I suspect of planting it are a fanatical human rights group. They wouldn't use something like this."

"Then I don't know what to say, Mr. Wayne. It must have been someone else who planted this."

Someone else. Neither the Order of St. Dumas nor Poison Ivy, with their savior complexes, would use something like this. The person who had bugged Gordon's office was a different player.

_Andi would have spotted this right away_. Bruce frowned and closed the thought down. Andi had to survive as best she could right now. His priority was making sure that, whatever had happened to her, Gotham wasn't harmed.

Fox stood up, buttoning his suit jacket as he did. "Will you come to the board meeting today?"

"I'll be down in five minutes."

"After lunch it is, then."

Bruce smiled but stayed sitting down, staring at the bug. It didn't surprise him that there was another player—after chasing down Nygma last year, nothing seemed too convoluted. But something was still bothering him, and he couldn't put his finger on it.

_Think it through_. He could almost hear Andi's voice saying it, the relentless logic that had made her so valuable. He pushed it away and glanced at the clock. If he was going to prove Fox wrong, he needed to head downstairs.

It was only when he was in the elevator and firmly _not_ thinking about the problem that the question floated into his head, still in Andi's voice.

_If St. Dumas didn't plant the bug, how did Valley know where to find her?_

* * *

"Come on. We've got to go."

Andi looked up from her notes. "Go? What, right now?"

_"Yes." _JP shoved a couple USBs into his pocket, then grabbed his backpack from where it sat on the chair. "Get your shoes on. I'll pack your papers."

His urgency made it through. Andi shoved her shoes on, then slung her bag over her shoulder—she kept it packed and ready in case she ever had the chance to make a break for it. Good thing too, because she barely had time to pocket her toothbrush before JP was chivvying her to the door.

"What is it?" Andi asked as he locked the office door behind him. "Did Deadshot—"

"Less talk, more moving. Stay close."

Andi did, following JP down and out of the office. It was maybe an hour before sunrise—Andi could see a couple of weary security guards and dockworkers, little more than silhouettes, as they finished off the last hour of their shifts. The streetlights were still on, and she could barely make out the sky above, just starting to fade into dull gray.

JP set off at what was a fast walk for him, a trot for Andi. They never got in speaking range of another person, although Andi wasn't sure if that was because of the time or because JP was trying to keep them from being noticed.

It was such a winding, twisted route that at first Andi wondered if even JP knew where he was going. He guided them through back alleys, an old subway station, and once up a fire escape and then down on the apartment's other side. But slowly a pattern started to emerge—they were looping around constantly to avoid the cameras that dotted the city, but slowly and surely they were heading toward the Narrows.

They reached there just as people were finally starting to emerge from their homes. Andi gave JP a sidelong look. The odds of a cop or camera spotting them were nonexistent in this part of town. And she'd grown up here—she knew where to go, how not to be seen. She could try her luck.

But then what? Deadshot was after her, JP would be too. They both knew she'd head straight to Gordon. If she ran to Bruce, she risked them following and finding his identity. Where could she go that wouldn't endanger other people?

Before she could decide, JP's arm reached around her shoulders, almost bowling over as he slumped against her. "Don't even think about it."

"What are you doing?" Andi somehow managed to hiss the words without putting a single 'S' in. "Get off!"

"I'm acting drunk. And making sure you don't run off. Keep walking forward, then turn left in two blocks."

"I'd do no such thing!" Andi lied. She jabbed him in the stomach. "You're heavy."

"Keep walking."

Andi obeyed, feeling like her spine was about to snap. When they made it to the newest safe house—a torn up, eighth floor apartment that smelled like old fish—JP finally stood up on his own and went to lock the door. Andi knuckled her back and watched him.

"Care to explain what all the cloak and dagger was about?"

JP held out his hand. "Pass me your bag."

"O-kay?"

Andi didn't know what she'd expected, but it wasn't for JP to unzip it and start rifling through its contents.

"I thought we agreed you weren't going to dig through my underwear!"

JP looked up at her, and while he didn't seem _angry_ per se, there was something about the set of his mouth that made her take a step back. It was the same way he'd looked at her when he'd first whisked her off, saying that he was firmly in charge and would do whatever he had to do to keep it that way. "Stand back there. Don't touch anything."

Andi obeyed, more out of surprise than anything else. JP went through her things with the meticulous speed of a professional, then looked up at her.

"Where is it?"

Andi planted her hands on her hips. "Look, I know we aren't best friends here, but I thought we were on the same side. What's with the cold shoulder?"

"Taylor, I have no desire to strip search you, but if you don't hand it over—"

_Taylor_. Things were bad.

"I'm sorry, my crystal ball's all out of batteries. Hand _what_ over?"

"Whatever it is you're using to communicate with the police."

"The police?"

JP raised his eyebrows. "Your friend Commissioner Gordon has put out a BOLO on me. I don't know what kind of game you're playing—"

"I'm not!" Andi snapped, quelling the hope that rose in her chest. Gordon was coming for her. He had to be. "In case you haven't noticed, I suck at mind games. And if I was in touch with Gordon, don't you think I'd have sent, I don't know, my _address?"_

"Then what's going on?"

"Remember how I tried to spill coffee on you? When you blew up my apartment? Remember how you slapped the mug away and I tossed it on the ground?"

There was a long pause, and then JP's eyes lit with understanding. "Fingerprints. Clever."

"Yep," Andi said. "I'm sorry, JP, but no matter how much I like you, the fact of the matter is you had a gun to my head. I fought back the best way I could, making sure if I went down, you would get pegged for it."

There was silence for a moment, then JP said, with a hint of apology in his voice. "I don't know if you're telling the truth."

"That's up to you. I'll be the first to admit that I've got no proof. You can search me and my things again, and your stuff too for good measure, and you still won't be sure that you haven't missed something. Whether or not you trust me has got to be your decision."

"Then prove it."

"How?"

"Give me a reason to trust you."

Andi was about to protest that she had no way of proving anything, no reasons she could give, but then she saw the look in JP's eyes and figured it out. She closed her mouth, breathed, then opened it again slowly.

"You want to know why Harley and Ivy are after me."

"You said you suck at mind games, so stop playing them. Own up to what you've done and let me decide whether or not I trust you."

Andi steeled herself, tried to wall out her emotions. It didn't work. "You aren't my judge. You aren't my jury. You have no right—"

"You want me to work with you? Andi, I have given you everything you asked: information, my past, help with your search—"

"I never asked—"

"—But I have got to know once and for all who you are and what your play is."

"Fine." Andi's voice shook with anger. "You want to know the truth? Harley hates me more than anything else. You refuse to use me as bait because you think I'll get caught in the crossfire, but death's a mercy compared to what she's planned for me."

For once, JP didn't make a joke, just folded his arms and leaned back. "I'm listening."

"It was two years ago. After Ivy's toxin got out and everyone was getting sick. Harley had demanded the Joker be set free before Ivy released a cure. I'd refused to work with them up to that point. But when they threatened Gotham like that, I—I couldn't just watch. I used my connections with the police to get into Arkham and break the Joker out. He went straight to Harley."

Andi went quiet, the memories she normally kept just out of her conscious mind fighting their way back in. She saw Bruce on the floor, writhing in pain. Herself promising, begging to do anything just to keep him safe. She remembered the Joker, the madness rolling off of him like a stench, as he danced around the room, laughing at the chaos around him. The syringe, and that surge of triumph she'd felt as it went in, followed by horror.

"And then?"

"You have to understand. Harley, she… she wasn't born evil. The things the Joker put Leena through… what he'd forced her to do… He drove her mad. And he wasn't going to stop. He was hurting her and—and others. He had to be stopped. Before he killed her."

"Andi…"

"But for all that, she loved him." Her voice seemed to echo in her own ears. "I did what I had to do to protect her—used her own mad love to stop him. And she's never forgiven me for it."

Andi snapped back to the present and met JP's eyes with a glare. "You need me to tell you what I did. Fine.

"I killed the Joker."

She stared at him for several long seconds. JP's look was one of mixed skepticism and respect.

"You think I'm making this up?"

He whistled slowly. "Either you've got a pair of brass ones to make something like that up, or you did it. Which is even more ballsy."

Andi ignored his poor anatomy skills.

"Believe me or don't," she said. "But if you find anything Harley did and search hard enough, sooner or later it'll relate back to me. Now, if you're done accusing me of things I haven't done, I need to get back to work. Catching _your_ target. And then probably _my_ old friends so you can kill them too."

"Andi…"

"Spare me the lines."

"You're right, I shouldn't have—"

"I said. Spare me."

They stayed that way, Andi glaring, JP searching for some way to save the conversation. After a minute he muttered something about needing to check out the rest of the apartment.

It was only after he left the room that Andi slumped back against the wall and buried her face in her hands.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Oooh, the plot thickens!

Nah, seriously, I hope this chapter isn't too convoluted; a lot of plot set-up, not a ton of action to ease up in between. I love my plot twists, but sometimes, that causes a lot of threads to juggle (er... I think I'm mixing my metaphors here. Threads to weave? Plots to juggle? Hm...). But a big part of why I post is for the feedback, so let me know what you think one way or the other—questions, comments, and scathing remarks are all welcome!

(Also, I'm pretty sure Sherlock Holmes is Andi's spirit animal or something at this point.)


	7. Puppeteers

**Chapter 7: **Puppeteers

"Gotham's road crews called, you know."

Andi set her notes on the apartment's none-too-steady table and looked up at JP. "Road crews?"

"They're out of paving tar. Wanted to know if they could bum some off of you."

"I don't have any…" JP shot a pointed look at her coffee. Andi picked up her mug and considered throwing it at him. "You really think bad jokes are going to get you forgiveness?"

"No. I just—"

Unfortunately, the table chose that moment to tip to the side. All of her papers slid off in a cascade, shooting across the sticky floor, and only a quick lunge from JP saved his laptop from the same fate.

Andi groaned and got on her hands and knees to pick up the mess. To her slight surprise, JP did the same.

"How's the search going?"

"Nowhere." Andi snapped. "I don't even know why I'm still looking at this."

"Because no matter how awful I am, you still want to find Deadshot?"

"I've been through this file ten times. I've mapped, traced, examined, and memorized everything in here. The fact of the matter is, there's enough in here for me to convict him, but not nearly enough to track him down."

"Do you have these notes organized in _binary?"_

"Give me those!" Andi snatched her papers out of his hands and began to sort through them with vicious precision. The less she had to look at JP, the better.

He seemed to be having the opposite problem, because she could feel his eyes on her, and they weren't moving.

"What would you need?" he asked.

"What?"

"To get better data. What would you need?"

Andi huffed and finally looked up at him. "Access to local and federal law enforcement databases. Enough coffee to float a ship on. You not breathing down my neck while I did it."

"Done."

Andi stared at him, so surprised she forgot to be unfriendly. JP looked like he was hiding a smirk. She forced herself to react.

"What is this? Some kind of guilt thing?"

JP shook his head.

"Guilt was letting you pick dinner the last four nights and take all the hot water in the shower, Andi. I wouldn't endanger a mission for guilt."

"So what is it, then?"

"Trust."

Andi raised her eyebrows. "Trust."

She could almost see JP debating with himself. After a few seconds he sighed and sat down from her across the table.

"I'm not an idiot. I know you haven't told me everything. But I also checked on what you said about your past, and it lines up. Whatever else is going on, you're not an evil person. You're probably a better one than I am. So, yes. I trust you to look for Deadshot, because you know as well as I do now why he has to be stopped."

Andi tried to think of something to say, even opened her mouth to say it, before realizing she had nothing.

"Plus it helps that Gordon's computer is on a public network and monitored," JP added. "No way you could contact him online without putting yourself and him in danger."

"I knew that," Andi admitted. "Otherwise, I'd have tried to jerry-rig a power cord for myself whenever you left the room."

JP grinned. "Want me to log you on, then?"

"Please."

A couple minutes later, Andi was staring at a computer screen while JP retreated into the none-too-clean bathroom—to shower, he said, although Andi was pretty sure he was just giving her privacy. The table wobbled under her when she put her hands on the keyboard, so she pulled it onto her lap instead.

For a second, she didn't know what to do. Try to contact Gordon anyways? Risk everything and reach out to Bruce?

No. Maybe she was an idiot, but she believed JP and what he had said about trust. She hadn't wanted to tell him her past, but doing it seemed to have done what all her earlier efforts hadn't: gotten him to bond with her. Andi couldn't get away from Deadshot on her own. But if she could push JP just a little harder, maybe she wouldn't have to…

So the question was: what would make JP flip?

Andi took a deep breath and began to dig.

* * *

Andi forced herself to approach it the right way. That meant hours verifying and backing up her suspicions, yes, but she also made herself work on the human factor. She was only getting one shot at this, and if that meant JP got to pick dinner and she waited until he had mellowed out over fake Mexican food and sports talk before saying anything, well, it was a small price to pay.

"I want to make a bet," Andi finally said, pushing her congealing enchilada away. It would be a cold day in hell before she ate _that._

"A bet?"

"Yeah. I'm going to make a prediction. And if I'm right, you hear me out."

Andi could see the moment JP switched from casual and relaxed to alert. But he wasn't suspicious. Not yet.

"This about your search today?"

"I think I found something," Andi said. "You won't like it. Hence the bet."

"What happens if you're wrong?"

"I drop my idea. Go back to the drawing board."

"Fair enough," JP said. "What's your guess?"

Deep breath. One shot. No hesitation. "It was the Order who told you who and where I was, wasn't it?"

She was worried that JP would put her implications together with the one question, but instead he just looked puzzled. "Yes. Why?"

"Nope. I won the bet. You agreed I could lead the conversation. And I want to go back to those soldiers. Greeley and Anselm."

"Them? But—" Andi gave JP a pointed look and he shut up.

"You want to say something, fine. Did you know they ran a Special Ops mission in Yemen the year before they died?"

"Yeah. Standard extraction of a couple Americans from a group of radicals. Only, something went wrong and most of their unit ended up dead. I looked into it, thought maybe the group had hired Deadshot for revenge, but it wasn't them."

"Not the thugs," Andi agreed. She steeled herself. In for a penny… "But did you know that the Order of St. Dumas was running a mission in the same area at the time? One where something went wrong and a lot of _them_ ended up dead, too?"

It took JP a few seconds to figure out what she was implying. Then he stiffened.

"You think—"

"I know it's a crazy theory. But I think the Order's men and the soldiers stumbled on each other. Something went wrong—the two got into a firefight, and only Greeley and Anselm made it out.

"And when the Order realized Greeley and Anselm had incriminating evidence, yes, I think they hired someone to kill them. Deadshot."

JP was getting angry, his voice as tight as if he was keeping it on a leash. "Andi, come on. Greeley and Anselm were special ops. They were in and out of every shithole country, fighting all sorts of terrible people. And you want to go on the chance that they _might_ have encountered the Order _once_ and pin it on them?"

"No. I wanted to dig. I thought it was too weird of a coincidence. Here, look." Andi pulled up the records on her computer and passed it to JP. "Greeley and Anselm were talking with an Interpol lawyer. Nobody knows what they said because the guy they were working with committed 'suicide' a week after they died and his computer mysteriously crashed. But he was especially known for his work and extensive knowledge of Yemen and the Middle East. _Something_ happened there. Something big."

JP looked for a second like he wanted to smash the computer, but he finally gritted his teeth and looked at the records. His eyes zoomed back and forth across the screen before he gingerly set the laptop on the ground.

"So your theory is the Order killed Greeley and Anselm, saw me promising to get justice for them, and decided to give me a _job?_"

""They saw that you had already tracked down Deadshot," Andi said. "It had to be a matter of time before you found them too. And hasn't Deadshot always been one step ahead, no matter what you did? They hired you, re-directed you to look at Deadshot instead of the puppeteer, then made you dance while telling Deadshot your every move."

JP's head gave a funny jerk and he stared at her. He didn't look angry any more, not even suspicious or confused. He looked strung out, wild and uncomprehending. Andi stopped herself from presenting more evidence and watched him instead, waiting to take her cue from him.

He strode out of the apartment and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

JP was gone for hours.

At first, Andi was too keyed up to do anything other than run through what she'd said over and over. Had she done it right? Pushed too hard? Too soft? Should she have presented that evidence, or something else? When he got back, should she approach him or let him make the first move?

But when JP was still gone three hours later, Andi finally began to settle, and then to worry.

The door was locked; she checked. And while she could probably break it open with enough time and effort, or take her chances on the rusted fire escape, she was wary of it for the same reason she hadn't used the computer to contact Gordon. JP was right. With Deadshot looking for her, she wouldn't last long on her own. If she had a chance of getting JP to stay with her…

Andi had dozed off on the couch when the door creaked open. She was still blinking awake when JP came back in and plopped down on the couch next to her.

"I need more proof."

"Oh good, you're back," Andi managed, still muzzy. "Thought you might have run out on me."

"You've got to have more than this, Andi. You know how many war criminals are in the Middle East? That doesn't prove it's the Order. You want me to believe you, I have to get something more than circumstantial evidence."

"'Circumstantial,' huh? Someone's been watching his cop shows."

JP's normal good humor didn't so much as surface. Andi sighed and sat up.

"You're right. That on its own wasn't enough to convince me. It wasn't even what led me to the Order."

"Then what did?" he asked.

"To explain, I'll need to tell you more of my past." Andi ignored JP's muttered 'finally,' and blew out a breath, trying to think of how to phrase everything. "I've told you that I went into hiding. But I don't think you understand just how deeply that went."

"Judging by the quality of your aliases…"

"Those were just to throw off the curious. JP, until you and Deadshot came along, there were five people in the world who knew I was alive. Two were Harley and Ivy. The other three, I trust with my life. Deadshot found out about me from Harley and Ivy, but it still doesn't explain how the Order knows I exist. The only way _that_ works is if he told them."

JP's eyebrows drew together.

"But that doesn't add up. Deadshot got his orders to kill you, and instead he, what, tells the Order and finds you protection?"

Andi hesitated. "You know how I was going to tell you more about my past?"

"Yeah."

"Ivy. She doesn't hate me, not like Harley. She thinks I'm an idiot idealist, but… I don't think she actually wants to see me dead. My best guess is she told Deadshot to give me a fighting chance. He informed the Order about me so I'd have you on my side. And gave me his profile so I could know what I was up against."

She could almost see JP thinking that through.

"But do you want to know the real nail in the coffin?"

He probably didn't, but the look on his face said he was determined to see things through. "Give it to me."

"Go back to that file Deadshot gave me. It's missing the name of who hired Greeley and Anselm, right?"

"Yeah?"

"And we said that meant someone knew what you were doing and where you were. I keep playing it out in my head, following all the threads. And every time I follow one, it leads back to them. Deadshot told the Order about me. You were sent to protect me by the Order. Someone's been keeping tabs on you, and who's good enough to do that—except the people you report to _voluntarily_? But if they sent you, they had to realize that their secret was at risk. So they told Deadshot to edit out one small detail in the file he was giving me…"

JP buried his face in his hands.

She had thought she'd feel something. Pride. Relief. Even a little glee, maybe. But JP just sat there, shattered. The same way she'd been when Harley promised to kill her. When Pam poisoned her. When Bruce walked away. Her throat started to close on her, emotion breaking through her façade as it never had before in front of JP.

"I'm sorry."

JP didn't answer. Didn't even glance at her.

Andi made herself wait ten minutes. Sat quietly and counted the seconds to herself. But when JP still hadn't done more than twitch, she decided to push again.

"I know this is flipping everything on you. And believe me, if anyone knows what it's like to have someone you trust turn on you, it's me. But… JP, I just want to get out. Please. This isn't my fight."

Finally, he stirred.

"How?"

"It won't be much," Andi promised. "Just get me to Gordon without Deadshot knowing, and I can take care of myself. I've rebooted identities before—believe it or not, under worse circumstances than this. Star City was… well, that's not the point. As soon as I'm gone, you can go after Deadshot or the Order or whatever it is you're going to do, and I won't be there to drag you down."

For a few seconds, she was worried she'd gone too far. That he would go Jason Bourne on her and insist he was going after his enemies no matter how much it screwed her over. But finally he sighed like he was trying to heave his lungs out, and nodded.

"Alright."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Say it with me now: dun, **dun, DUN!**

Nah, seriously, I hope this one wasn't _too_ convoluted. Andi's mind works in strange ways; this is actually the simplified version of the original, after my beta claimed I'd given her a migraine.

Thanks, as always, to those who've read and reviewed. I say it every time, but that doesn't make it any less sincere; it really does mean the world to me.


	8. Meet

**Chapter 8:** Meet

She hadn't expected it to be night.

It was a stupid, silly thing—Andi knew that Azrael had come back past eight in the evening, that her internal clock was getting thrown off by the lack of windows and sleep, but she'd still half-expected sunshine, or what passed for sunshine in Gotham.

"What's the plan? Where are we going?" she asked, trotting to keep up. JP was walking just slowly enough that he wouldn't stand out, but he was so much taller than her that Andi was stuck in the awkward pace between speed-walking and a slow jog.

"Put a bit of distance between us and the safehouse, then get a cab to a random hotel and lay low. I'll drop you off with Gordon in the morning."

Andi felt her eyebrows raise. "You aren't coming?"

"Oh, that'll go well. What should we say? 'Here's the vigilante who kidnapped me, can't he come into witness protection too?'" Azrael snorted, then added. "Besides, I need to work some things out on my own."

Andi nodded. "Who are you going after first? I mean, I get that the Order screwed you over, and I don't need your protection. But if you're abandoning the chase for Deadshot, I'd like to know so I can prepare for him to track me down."

"Oh no. I haven't forgotten his role in things—and he's in Gotham already. I'll still take care of him first."

"How long until the Order figures out you ran?"

"When I don't check in two days in a row, they'll come looking. When they see your search history and how we left… the question is, will they come after me or just cut their losses and let me come to them?"

Andi shrugged, unable to put quite as much stock in the question as JP did. What the Order was going to do in three or four days wasn't quite as important to her as whether they lived through the next three or four hours. She knew it was just jitters from being outside and exposed for the first time in days, but she couldn't stop the icy feeling in her spine. As if, no matter where she turned, she had danger creeping up behind her.

"I know first priority is to get away from the Order," she said. "And that you need to drop me off with Gordon as fast as possible so you can go hunting. But Deadshot's bound to be watching him. How are we going to get me there alive?"

JP didn't stop, but he did slow down, obviously thinking it through. Andi shook her head in disbelief.

"Seriously? You're cooking up all these great plans for vengeance and you can't take five minutes to make sure your hostage gets out safe and sound?"

He grimaced and didn't answer.

"Ok, then. Fine. Look, I'm not too bad at starting over by now. Get me out of Gotham on my own, and I'll do it myself. We'll just leave Gordon out of the equation."

"No way."

Andi stopped and glared. JP made it two steps past her, then realized she was behind him and turned.

"'No?' What, you think you get to decide for me?"

"If you're being stupid, yeah. You might be able to stay safe from most people, but you've seen how Deadshot can get through even Gordon's work—and I've checked, his aliases are excellent. Anything you make will last you a week, tops, before you're killed. And I need more time than that to stop Deadshot and protect you."

"I'll risk it."

"I won't. When I say I'm going to do something, Andi, I do it. And right now, that's keeping you alive and free."

Now it was Andi's turn for silent, simmering disagreement. Only, with her big mouth, she'd never been able to really manage that for long. "So what, then?" she asked. "Got any better ideas?"

They were in a nice enough part of town now that a couple of taxis had appeared. JP stepped out into the street to flag one down, Andi right on his heels. "I don't like it. But if you're sure you don't want to stick it out with me—"

"I am."

"Then we get you a couple of burn phones," he said. "You use them to contact Gordon to come get you. Name a place that only you or he would know, have him meet you there and take you somewhere safe. His office is bugged, but as long as you say things Deadshot won't recognize, you should be fine."

"But if Deadshot manages to follow him, it puts Gordon in the crossfire. I'm not letting him take a fall for me."

JP grimaced, but that might have been because a cab pulled over to take the person next to them instead of him. "How long will it take?"

"If he just hands me information on a new identity and tells me to leave? Maybe fifteen minutes. Long enough for Deadshot to kill him and me both."

JP paused, and it looked like he was calculating something in his head. "Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way around."

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't just a risk, it's an opportunity. I want a chance at Deadshot, you want to meet with Gordon. So you deliberately give away where you are, and I go and ambush Deadshot. Either I take Deadshot down or he doesn't show and you get away. Choose a windowless meeting place, somewhere that's fairly secure, and I'll watch your back in case he tries anything. Win-win."

Right. Because look at JP's track record so far tracking Deadshot.

But did they have anything better? Anything else that gave her a snowman's chance in hell to survive until tomorrow?

"Alright then," Andi said. "It's worth a shot."

Their taxi pulled over to the side of the road, and Andi slipped into the cab, JP sliding in next to her and giving directions to a cheap motel. As they rounded a corner, skyscrapers blocked their view of the Narrows, and Andi felt something uncoil in herself, something that had been holding itself tense ever since she first got taken prisoner. She was out. It didn't matter how bad things got, whether she made it to safety or not, she knew one thing—she was never going to be trapped like that again.

* * *

"Here you go."

Half a dozen burn phones and their batteries clattered onto the bed in front of Andi; a revolver was placed, more carefully, on the motel desk next to her. She swallowed at that, then looked up at JP.

"I don't use guns."

JP rolled his eyes. "What are you, some kind of pacifist? You killed the Joker."

"Yeah," Andi hadn't needed the reminder. "I did. And I'm not killing again."

"Don't tell me you feel bad for that son of a—"

"I don't. That's the problem." Andi stared at the gun, trying to put her thoughts in a way JP could understand. "I killed him and I didn't lose a moment's sleep over it. I was even proud that I'd done it. It wasn't until I saw what his death did to Harley that I even felt a second of doubt."

"Good."

"_Not_ good. JP, maybe the Joker did have to die. I don't know. Probably. But if I don't feel any regret, if I can't take what I did seriously… then I'm not the one who should pull the trigger. It's not that I'm squeamish or—or that it was too hard. It's that it was way, _way_ too easy."

JP rolled his eyes and looked like he was going to protest, but Andi folded her arms. "Argue all you want, but I'm not changing my mind."

"Fine. But at least carry the damn thing in case you do," JP growled. "I'm not letting you back out there without taking basic precautions."

Andi scowled at it. "If Deadshot catches up to me, it won't matter whether I've got a gun in my hands or not. He'll find a way to take me down."

"It'll make him hesitate, maybe long enough for Gordon or I to get to you. Come on, Andi, even if you refuse to shoot it, I need you to at least be able to bluff."

Andi held her tongue, hesitated another few seconds, then firmly picked up the gun and inspected it. Double action, small enough to fit in a purse, probably illegally bought—it was one of the types that always seemed to turn up in her lab after a gang fight. She fumbled a bit rolling out the cylinder to check that it was loaded, but when she looked up, she saw JP nodding his approval.

"You may not like guns, but you know your way around them."

"I've run enough ballistics that I know what I'm doing. And I've seen plenty of what they can do."

JP looked like he was about to argue, then shook his head. "So long as you carry one, I don't care how you feel about it."

Andi nodded, set the gun back on the desk, and turned to the phones. "What's the plan with these?"

"The same one we had earlier—call Gordon, set up a meet. You'll need to take out each one's battery after you're done with it, in case Deadshot tries to trace the number, and destroy the phone itself as soon as possible."

"Alright." Andi stared at the six phones laid out in front of her, then picked one at random and slotted in a battery. "Mind giving me some space?"

"Andi, come on. I know how to do things that make Gitmo look like a happy kindergarten classroom. You don't have any secrets I couldn't force out of you if I wanted them."

"It's not—I don't think you're trying to sneak information out of me or anything like that. But you know things Gordon doesn't, and vice versa. I know things _both_ of you don't. You aren't interrogating me, but if I told you something accidentally… well, you'd still know it, and these aren't my secrets to protect."

JP glanced around the room, obviously assessing it for security threats. What with it being a windowless motel with small air vents and one exit, Andi wasn't quite sure why he was worried, but he still checked under the beds, the bathtub, and the little closet before heading to the door. "I'll be in earshot if you call. And I'm checking back in in ten minutes, no matter what."

"Alright." Andi waited until the door closed behind him and his footsteps had faded before she went to the bathroom sink and filled a glass with water. She left it on the desk, in easy reach, then switched on the phone and dialed Gordon's personal cell number. He answered on the second ring.

"Who is this?"

"Commissioner?" Andi felt something inside her relax and tense at the same time. "It's me."

There was a long pause and then Gordon breathed, "Taylor. You're alive."

"You don't need to sound so surprised."

"Where are you?"

"Gordon, my phone is clean, but I don't know that yours is. Please don't ask me questions I can't answer."

"Alright, then. Are you safe?"

"Yes." Andi breathed slowly, trying to sift through what to say first. "I don't have much time. Odds are someone's going to try and track down where I am with this call. I'm out, safe, and unharmed, and I think I can get to you. But someone's going to be trying to find me; he might be listening right now." _So don't say anything stupid,_ she added mentally.

"Got it." Gordon hesitated. "If you're really safe, tell me the truth, if not, lie. I'll respond the same either way. What was the machine at MCU's forensics lab that always gave you the most trouble?"

Andi grinned just a little bit. "The coffee pot." Every single piece of scientific equipment, no matter how worn down or terrible their calibration, she could coax to do what she wanted. That damn coffee pot tried to kill her at least twice a week.

"Alright. What do you need? Why did you call?"

"I'm out, but I need help going underground again, and I don't have much time. Do you think you can get me what I need for a new identity and meet me where… where I inoculated you?"

Arkham Asylum. Andi had thought long and hard for a place they'd both remember, one that wasn't too exposed, and she knew the memories from that encounter were vivid for both of them. And Harley remembered it, too—Deadshot would know where to go.

"When?"

"Two hours from now."

"You expect a fight?"

"No, but I'm ready for one. And, Gordon, this is crucial. He's going to watch you. Do everything you can to keep from being followed." The less Deadshot focused on Gordon, the lower the odds he'd get caught in the crossfire. In the whole mess of JP's plan, that was what worried Andi the most. She knew what she was signing on for, here; Gordon didn't. And it was impossible to warn him.

"Who—"

She glanced at her watch. "Listen, I've got to go. I'll call you again from a different number when I'm thirty minutes out to make sure everything's going right."

"Taylor—"

Andi hung up, pulled out the battery, and dropped her phone in the water.

* * *

"Swipe this, then the passcode's 2-5-5-7."

Andi took the employee ID badge from JP and shook her head. "Do I even want to know why you have a pass into Arkham on hand?"

"Mob bosses use this place to get out of jail time. I've had this ready in case I needed to go in after them."

"Yeah, I really didn't want to know that."

"You asked."

"No I didn't, I asked if I _wanted_ to—you know what? Never mind. Not really the time for this."

JP snorted, then returned to looking around, twisting and craning so he could see as much as possible through the stolen car's windows; an Arkham employee's, so hopefully Deadshot wouldn't pick them out. Andi just stared at the employee entrance, twenty feet away, tense and ready.

"You're clear as far as I can see," he said. "But if Deadshot's figured this out, he's going to know to avoid me. You sure you don't want me to go in with you?"

"No. Like you said, it would lead to awkward questions—and how are you going to protect me from in there anyway? Watch from outside."

He looked like he was going to argue, then nodded and changed the subject. "Have your cell phones?"

"One ready to go, one for backup," Andi recited. "Yours and Gordon's numbers are programmed into both, on speed dial. Backpack's on my back, revolver's in its holster." _Where it's staying, thanks._

"Ear piece?"

Andi tapped it and heard the faint static as it moved in her ear. "Turned on. I'll stay online with you until I'm sure I'm safe, and then destroy it. I've been on the run for years, JP, I know how to stay anonymous."

There was a pause, and then Andi drew a deep breath. "I guess this is good-bye, then. If everything goes right, we won't see each other again."

JP looked like he was trying to find something to say, but after a few seconds, he just swallowed and nodded. "Good luck, Andi."

"You too. Try to stay alive, alright?"

Andi lost his answer as she jumped out and slammed the door behind her. Head down, weaving just a little in case Deadshot was trying to get a bead on her, she ran towards the door, swiped the card, and punched in the key code. The little light above the slot turned green, the door clicked, and Andi dove inside, not daring to breathe until the door closed behind her.

"I'm in," she said to herself. "I'm in."

"I noticed."

Andi jumped, but it was only JP's voice in her ear. "Forgot you were with me," she muttered.

There was the sound of a car door slamming on his end—now that she was gone, he was moving to a better vantage point to keep watch. "Everything ok?"

Andi glanced around. She'd worked at Arkham for two weeks, back during her med school rotations, and the late-night employees seemed no different from what she remembered. A janitor half-heartedly mopped the floor about fifteen feet away, and a tech was chatting with a couple of nurses at the corner of the hall, but none of them took any notice of her. "Yeah," she said, quietly so they wouldn't think she was talking to thin air. "It's good."

"Know where you're going?"

"Mm-hmm." Andi headed down the hallway, remembering the room Gordon had taken her to two years ago. Amazing how, despite all the changes, she felt the same mixture of fear and adrenaline and determination.

"I'm fine," she said aloud, as she reached a set of deserted stairs. "Just do your job and watch for any trouble."

JP didn't answer, but he didn't need to. Andi had reached the hall of doctors' offices, and there, standing halfway down it, was—

"Gordon."

"Taylor."

Andi didn't do anything stupid like break into a sprint or go in for a hug, but the relief that washed through her almost made her wish she was that sort of person. When she got to him, she halfway reached out a hand, not sure if she wanted to shake his or just touch him and reassure herself that he was real. She pulled back at the last second instead, covering her mouth with both hands and trying not to shake with relief and stress and pent up emotion. At last, at long last, she was with someone she trusted. Safe. It was over.

"It's alright, Taylor, you're alright now." Gordon sounded like he was reading out of a manual—_How to Approach Kidnapping Victims_ or something—but Andi didn't care. His hand closed over her shoulder, half comforting, half bracing, and Andi gulped until she was back under control.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, you're right. You're sure you weren't followed?"

"Don't worry. I had the Batman keeping an eye as I left, no one was after me."

"Batman?" God, she really _was_ shaking, just talking to keep from bursting into tears. "He helped out?"

"Of course he did," Gordon said.

JP snorted in her ear. "I should have known GCPD was still working with that hack."

_Of course. Should have known._

Andi lowered her hand from her face. Something. Something was… off. "But he's not here now, right?" she insisted. "He just helped with that one thing, then went off to do his vigilante routine?"

"No. I mean, he's not in earshot, but he's…"

"Andi, what's wrong?" JP asked in her ear. Andi heard her own breathing starting to hitch in panic.

"JP, I need your help."

"'JP?'" Gordon asked. "As in Jean Paul Valley? The guy who—"

"Gordon, please. Trust me. JP?"

"I have a sniper rifle pointed at—"

"No. No, that's not what I mean." Andi pulled away from Gordon, now speaking very fast. "You know Deadshot better than anyone. So pretend this was a new case and start from scratch. Why would he come to Gotham?"

"Because he was hired. That's the only reason he does anything. Someone takes out a hit, and he fills the contract."

"Exactly. Someone took out a hit. We've been assuming this whole time that the target was me, but the only reason we think that is because the Order told you. And we know they're untrustworthy.

"What if I'm not the target? What if I never was? We've both been sloppy and I'm still alive, and we assumed it was because Deadshot was told to go easy on me, but there's another explanation. What if Ivy protected me by giving him a different target, one who Harley hates almost as much?"

"There's someone else like that?"

_Of course he would help._

Andi didn't know what her expression was, but when she swung her gaze to Gordon, he took two steps back. "Patch me through to him."

"What?"

"Batman, Gordon! If he's here, you're in touch with him."

To Gordon's everlasting credit, he didn't protest, didn't ask questions, just pulled a cellphone out of his pocket and handed it over.

"Press the blinking red button to get his attention."

Andi did and heard a graveled, growly voice in her ear. "Gordon?"

"You've got to get out." Her voice was tight, controlled, the opposite of what she was feeling. "This is a set up to get to you through me. Deadshot was hired by Harley and Ivy and he let me escape. He scared me into running, knowing that I'd go to Gordon. And if he didn't kill me, that means the target he's after—"

Gunfire erupted in JP's speaker and Bruce's line went dead.


	9. Crisis

**Chapter 9:** Crisis

"JP! JP, talk to me, please!"

No answer. Andi swore and spun to Gordon. "We need to go. Deadshot shot Br-Batman, and I've lost contact."

Gordon's face was a worrying shade of white, but his voice was firm. "We can't."

"You think I give a damn about staying safe? He's in trouble—he's probably already dead because of me, we've got to—"

"Think, Taylor! Arkham's surrounded by skyscrapers; he can be on any of them. I'm not putting you out there unless you can do something."

Andi stared at him, trying to think, and then there was static in JP's earpiece, so loud that she jumped. "Andi? You alive?"

"JP!" Andi clutched the transmitter as if that would bring her closer. "I'm fine, what's happened?"

"Got a bead on Deadshot. I fired on him a second before he targeted the Batman. Looks like I winged him, but now he's run off. Not sure if he made the shot or not."

"He did. Batman's not responding, and I don't know where he is."

There was a heart-stopping silence on the other end. "Andi, Deadshot's as good as his name. If he shot Batman, your friend's dead."

"Maybe not! You'd just shot at him, maybe that threw off his aim or—or made him work too fast or something. JP, please, I have to get to him."

She'd expected a pause as he considered, but JP was used to combat; he thought fast. "Get to the back entrance. I'll cover you and tell you where to go."

"Okay." Andi pulled Gordon with her towards the exit, then hesitated. "Hold on, JP, I'm handing you over to Gordon," she said, and passed the earpiece to her old boss.

He glanced at it like it might explode. "This is the man who kidnapped you, Taylor. How do you know he isn't part of the set up?"

"We don't have time for this!" Gordon still didn't take it, so Andi thought fast. "If he's set me up, Batman's already dead. The only chance we have is if this guy's on our side, so we have to risk it. Please, Gordon, just do this."

Gordon grimaced but obeyed. Andi let him take the lead towards the employee exit and pulled out one of her cell phones, dialing the numbers so fast her fingers stumbled over the keys twice. Cursing herself, she corrected and clutched the phone to her ear.

"Who is this?" The British accent was as cool and crisp as ever, but Andi could hear the undercurrent of fear.

"I need help," she said as Gordon and she left Arkham. Gordon grabbed her upper arm and started to sprint with her through the parking lot. "Batman's been shot, don't know if he's injured or dead. You can connect to the Tumbler's autopilot, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Track this number's location and send the Tumbler there. I need to get him out of here as soon as possible." Andi started to pant, pack bouncing as she ran. She tossed it to the ground—no point in carrying dead weight now—and hung up, pulling her arm free of Gordon as she did. "Where are we going?"

He pointed to a parking garage. "Third floor, left side."

Andi almost responded, then decided to save her breath—until she got to Bruce, there was nothing left to say or do. She ducked her head and put on an extra burst of speed.

Despite the panic, the sprinting, the belief that any second she would feel a bullet go through her chest, Andi arrived at the parking garage unharmed five minutes later, Gordon hot on her heels.

"Where—" she panted. Gordon pointed to the edge of the lot, and her adrenaline-numbed muscles somehow flew her towards it, until she saw the crumpled black shadow.

"Bruce," she muttered, too low for Gordon to hear, and then she was kneeling next to him, jeans soaking up blood. She yanked his jaw open, checking his airway. "Come on, come on, talk to me, tell me you're—"

"Taylor?"

"Busy!" she snapped. Breathing, how to check for breathing when she had no clue how to remove his body armor and watch his chest? She settled for shoving the face of her watch over his mouth and counted to ten. When she pulled it away, it was fogged up.

"Thank God," she said. She slipped her fingers under the neck of his suit, feeling for a pulse, and breathed for what felt like the first time since she'd heard the gunshots when his carotid artery twitched under her fingers.

"Taylor!"

She twisted around to see JP facing Gordon with his hands up, Gordon's gun shoved into his chest.

Before she could say anything, Gordon asked, "Is he alive?" at the same moment as JP asked "You've been working with _him?"_

"Yes." Andi ran her fingers through her hair as she turned back to Bruce. Damn it, she couldn't do much more than any pre-med undergrad here—there wasn't any blood, and that probably meant a head injury or internal damage. But she couldn't even take off the armor to check because for all she knew he _was_ bleeding underneath and the armor was holding him together—and she did _not_ have time to deal with the argument she heard Gordon and JP shouting behind her.

"You two shut up!" she shouted. "Gordon, keep an eye out for Deadshot. JP, I'm going to immobilize his head and neck as best I can, and then I need your help to move him."

"Move him where?"

At that moment, the Tumbler came roaring up to them, stopping in front of her like a well trained dog. The front glass opened up, and then—_bless_ Alfred—a little hatch to the side sprang open as well.

Hardly daring to hope, Andi motioned JP toward the hatch, and could have cried in relief when he pulled out a cervical collar.

"Get over here! Brace his head." JP stepped into place in front of Bruce's shoulders and Andi slipped the collar under his neck, wrapping it around—

She should have known. Head injury. Helmet was probably damaged. As her fingers dragged through the groove on Bruce's helmet, there was a _click_.

A shock raced up her arm and then her muscles cut out and she started seizing. She collapsed against Bruce, lungs refusing to breathe, hands flying, beating against him as she thrashed.

It was gone as fast as it came and then JP was kneeling with his hands hovering over her, like he wanted to touch her but couldn't. "You ok?"

"Yeah. Just a defense mechanism in the mask." Andi forced herself back onto her knees, muscles weak and watery. "Come on, help me with—"

Bruce's mask was gone.

A thrill of absolute horror raced up into her spine, numbing her brain as she and JP stared down at him. His face was slicked with sweat and blood, but it was obviously, undeniably—

"Don't say it!" she snapped at JP. "Don't you dare say his name!"

Despite all the adrenaline, all the fear and the haste and the panic, something went very very calm inside of her. Andi straightened.

"Did you take it off?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't have to. Head trauma. It must have weakened his helmet. Cracked it; Andi's thrashing had knocked the pieces away. She could see them scattered on the ground.

"Gordon," she said, voice almost conversational. "His mask has fallen off. Please don't turn around."

She saw him stiffen, saw the panic she wasn't allowing herself to feel take over his body. "Did Valley see?"

"Yes." Andi turned to look at JP. No hope that he hadn't recognized Bruce—he looked as stunned as if he'd been hit in the face with a very heavy weight. First things first. Keep Bruce alive. "Help me get him into the car."

JP didn't move.

"Hey!" Andi said. "I know you've worked through worse. Come on and help."

"Right." JP said. He shook himself. "I'm on it."

Two minutes later, she'd gone through the Glasgow scale, and JP had tried in vain to create a makeshift stretcher, so she decided to risk lower spine injuries and just let JP fireman carry him into the Tumbler. No way you could lay someone flat in the Tumbler anyway. Andi put her worry to the side as she followed, the calm detachment helping her function. Focus. She had to protect Bruce.

When JP turned, Andi had her revolver pointed at him.

"What the—"

"Drop your gun and get in the car."

He looked more puzzled than scared. "You said you wouldn't use—"

"Not to protect myself. Someone else? Him? Don't know. Drop your gun or we find out."

Using just his thumb and forefinger, JP pulled out the gun and set it carefully at his feet. Andi wasn't sure if he was humoring her or if he really thought she could do it.

"Kick it over to Gordon," she said.

Her old boss had a will of iron. He was still facing away and didn't so much as flinch when the gun clattered against his heel. Still looking at the sky, he knelt down, picked it up, and put it in his belt. "You sure you've got this, Taylor?" he asked.

"Yes." Andi turned JP towards the Tumbler and motioned him inside. "I'm taking JP with me. Don't turn around until after we're gone. I'll call you as soon as I've gotten through with him." She wasn't sure which _him_ she meant.

"Good luck."

"Thanks." Still holding her gun, Andi wedged herself into the Tumbler between JP and Bruce. It wasn't easy; Bruce was stretched out as much as he could across the passenger seat, and JP was big enough to fill the driver's spot. Andi was forced to perch in the space between and hope that she wouldn't get thrown when they made a sharp turn.

"Where do you want me to drive?"

"I don't." Andi pressed a button and the glass top slid closed over them. A second later and the machine roared to life, driving itself—and them—back to Wayne Manor.

"Miss Andi?" Alfred's voice came through a speaker just behind JP's shoulder. "What news?"

"I've got him, he's alive," Andi reeled off. "GCS of seven, contusions on the right forehead, left pupil blown. Pulse rapid and faint but steady, 100 bpm, can't tell breathing or temp. Need you to set things up for a full physical exam once we're back because I haven't been able to remove the armor and assess anywhere else. CT, X-ray, sedatives—you know the drill. We'll have to cut the armor off. And I've got company."

"Commissioner Gordon?"

"JP Valley." The quick intake of breath told her everything she needed to know. "Bruce was onto him I take it?"

"We were under the impression he had kidnapped you, not assisted."

"Little of both." JP shot her a wry glance at that, but Andi ignored it. "Alfred, he saw Bruce's face. Mask came off when I was putting on the collar. Better he be here with us than running off telling people. I've got him at gunpoint, although I think he's letting me do it to feel safer."

"Are you quite sure that's a good idea, Miss?"

"Right now the only thing I'm sure of is that Bruce is in trouble. That's first priority."

"Then I'll have things prepared for your arrival."

The speaker clicked off and Andi was left staring at JP instead. He returned her gaze with zero signs of fear.

"You should put that down. If you lose your balance, you could fire without meaning to. Might hit any of us."

Andi hesitated. JP had to be taken out of the game—she couldn't figure out what to do about him and Bruce at the same time—but she couldn't quite bring herself to shoot him unless he attacked. And if he planned on that, he would have already done it.

At that second, Bruce groaned. She half-turned to look at him, gave JP one more distrustful look, then lowered her revolver. JP plucked it from her hands and, before Andi could panic, freed the cylinder and shook the bullets loose. He nodded to Bruce. "Want to check on him?"

Andi turned back, but Bruce stayed unresponsive despite all her best efforts.

The Tumbler pulled through the waterfall two minutes later. By the time the top had pulled open and Andi had managed to straighten up, Alfred was by her side, holding a body board. He looked like he was going to try and lift Bruce out of the car himself, but Andi stopped him.

"JP can do the heavy work. You got the stuff I need?"

"Of course." Alfred managed to sound vaguely insulted without paying any real attention to her. Andi spared a second to smile.

"Get him on the board and start getting his armor off him. Tell me if you find any other injuries."

Alfred had assisted her with an operation before, so Andi already knew he made a far better nurse than she did a doctor. By the time she'd prepped syringes of sedative, scrubbed up, and checked over the other supplies, she was unsurprised to see that Alfred had already gotten Bruce out of his armor and was hooking him up to a heart monitor. She hurried over to place her supplies on the table. "JP, help me with this. Alfred, what are your readings?"

"Pressure's eighty over fifty-five. Heart rate—"

"Take this!" Andi handed JP a tray of materials and spun him toward Bruce.

The second he turned around, she uncapped the needle of sedative and drove it straight into his arm.

He took one—two stumbling steps forward, then caught himself on his hands and knees. Supplies spilled everywhere and one bottle of disinfectant cracked, staining the ground a slick golden brown. JP grabbed a scalpel, then pushed himself around to face her. Andi stumbled backwards, grabbing for another syringe. Damn it, if she'd given him too little—

She hadn't. His eyes rolled up in his head, and the way he landed, face cracking against the ground, letting go of his weapon, said he was really out.

"Been awhile since I've had to do that," she said.

Alfred had his eyebrows raised, almost disappearing from his face, but all he said was, "I'll get more gauze and disinfectant."

"Scalpels too." Andi kicked the one away from JP's hand and hurried to Bruce. She took a deep breath and somehow set JP aside, focused on nothing but keeping Bruce alive. "We're going to need a brain scan first, though."

**End of Part I**


	10. Priorities

**Part II**

**Chapter 10:** Priorities

"Nuh-uh-uh…"

Andi looked up from the book she was pretending to read. JP blinked at her, like he couldn't bring her into focus, then pressed his hand to his forehead.

"How are you feeling?" Andi asked. "Nausea? Headache? I didn't exactly go precise with the dosing."

He just shook his head, but when he pulled his hand back, his eyes were focused again. He slowly raised one wrist, then the other, then moved the covers back, checking his feet—looking for restraints, Andi guessed. His eyes swept the room for exits and checked her for weapons before he looked at her face. "What the hell?"

Andi winced. "Sorry. About knocking you out. I had to deal with one thing at a time, and right then, my priority was to keep Batman alive. Figuring out whether I could trust you had to wait."

He raised his eyebrows, like he wanted to tell her off, but just said, "So what did you decide?"

She hesitated, wondering again if she was making the right decision. But after being kept prisoner herself for a month, she wasn't doing it to anyone else. "The door's not locked. Neither are the windows if you want to be dramatic about it, although it's a two story drop. Medically speaking, you should stay for a couple of hours so you can burn off the last of the sedative, but I'm not going to fight if you're determined."

"What's the catch?"

"There's not. Let's face it; there's no way I can keep you trapped long-term. You'd find a way to break out. Trying it short-term would only get you angry. So—"

"You could turn me in to Gordon."

"I could." Andi fought to keep her voice steady. "He offered when I updated him on the Batman. But… you know who Bruce Wayne is. The way things are in Gotham, it'd be just as bad if you told the police as the criminals."

JP hesitated, brows knitting together; Andi could almost see him working through the muddle the drugs had sent him into.

"That businessman. You mentioned him on our last date. The arrogant, good-hearted one you knew…"

"Yeah."

He nodded, still adding things together. Andi waited, mostly hoping he'd just fall back asleep.

"He break your heart?"

Andi rolled her eyes.

"We've got bigger things to worry about."

"That a yes?"

"It's a 'bigger things.' Like Deadshot."

_That_ got his attention. JP's eyes went from flickering over the room to directed straight at her, like a dog that had spotted a squirrel. "Deadshot? Has he—"

"No sign of him, yet. But he'll show. And you're going after him. I'm hoping that means we can work on the same side."

"'We?' That means Wayne too, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

"How is he? Last I saw he'd had his head bashed in."

"Alive." Andi tried to pull a hand through her hair, but then paused and lowered it. Even after scouring her hands and a long shower, they smelled like latex and blood. "As best I can figure out, Deadshot's aim got thrown off, and he only hit body armor. But the impact was enough that it knocked Batman from where he was standing, and he bashed his head on the concrete when he landed. He had an epidural hematoma—bleeding into his brain cavity—that I had to… well. He's coming out from anesthesia now, we'll know more after that. And then I missed… God, I was so concerned about making sure his head was ok I missed that he'd dislocated his knee. Just left it like that for hours, even after I finished the surgery. It's fixed now, but I just don't know how well it'll heal—if it even _can_ heal all the way. We'll know more soon. Alfred's with him."

"Not you?"

"With the knock on the head, he probably won't remember what happened or even that I've been found. We figured it would be best to let him recover for a few hours before we filled him in."

"Uh-huh. Convenient…"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

JP's eyes were fluttering, his voice off-hand and sleepy. "Come on. You're… you don't trust anyone… and you used to trust him… so you avoid…"

"I think someone needs his naptime," Andi said. "I'll be back in a couple hours to check on you."

She stood up to go, but he managed to flop a hand around her wrist. His grip was as weak as a child's, but Andi stilled and turned back to him.

"I mean it, Andi." He was fading fast; his words were slurred, like it took an effort to get them out. "You don't trust anyone, do you? Not me, not him. No one."

"That's not true. There's…" Andi scrambled for a name, any name, but a glance at JP's face showed he'd fallen back asleep. She pulled her wrist free and crept back out.

It wasn't her fault she couldn't finish that sentence, she told herself. There were only a half dozen or so people who knew she was alive. Harley and Ivy wanted her dead. Deadshot worked for them. JP was a semi-reformed terrorist. Alfred was wonderful, but they both knew his first priority was Bruce.

Gordon came closest; he was a good man, one of the best. But he had a city to run, other people to protect. After JP and Deadshot had found her through him, it wouldn't be safe to run to him again. And Bruce's allegiance was to Gotham.

Except… he'd come running to help when Andi had called Gordon. It was stupid—Andi knew Deadshot had used that, that the whole thing had been a plot to draw out the Batman. Bruce had almost died because he'd tried to help Andi. But the fact remained, he'd come for her. All his talk about Gotham coming first, and two years later, he'd still risked his life for her. She wasn't fooled into thinking it meant they could be what she'd wanted all that time ago, but to do that… that was more than enough for her by this point.

Cheered by that thought, Andi headed for the kitchen. Alfred had said she could help herself to the food, and after weeks of take-out, she wanted something homemade. Not to mention that her thoughts kept going upstairs, trying to guess how Bruce was doing. With the painkillers he was on, he'd probably go back to sleep before he could talk to her. Alfred would call if he needed her, she knew, but what if he—

No. Focus on cooking. Andi set to work on a soup recipe she pulled up online, a long and complicated one that would keep her hands busy. She couldn't keep from checking the clock every thirty seconds or so, but told herself she only did it to keep track of how long the pot had been simmering.

Two failed attempts and four hours later, though, and Andi was staring at a restaurant-worthy bowl of French onion soup, unable to eat a thing. Why had she made this? She didn't even _like_ onions. A headache formed at her temples, throbbing in time to the tick of the clock. Bruce had to be alright. He had to.

"Miss Andi?"

Andi jumped up so fast her thighs smacked the bottom of the tabletop, knocking over her bowl. She ignored the wave of cold soup that washed onto her jeans—Alfred was in the door of the kitchen, and best of all he was _smiling_. "How is he?"

"He's asking for you, Miss."

"I'll be right up." Andi blotted up the mess as best she could with a rag. Was it a rag? Who monogrammed their kitchen rags? "Uh, should I bring him something to eat?"

"I'll come up with it in a little bit."

"Thanks. Oh, and help yourself, too. I made a lot and I—I mean, it's your kitchen and food, I don't know why I felt like I needed to invite you, but I just wanted to keep busy and thought…"

"I appreciate it," Alfred said, smooth as ever.

Andi gave him a sheepish grin as she tossed the rag back in the sink. "I wish I had half your poise."

"Perhaps when you have half my age, Miss. Now, up you go."

Andi forced herself to walk instead of sprint, trying to compose her thoughts. Nothing had changed between them, she told herself. She couldn't think that just because she still missed him, he did the same; a glance at the tabloids showed he hadn't exactly been pining away in solitude.

Andi realized she was standing in front of his door, hand raised but unmoving. She shook herself and knocked, then poked her head in before he could answer.

Bruce had managed to half-sit up, his shoulders propped on a mound of pillows, his leg stretched and splinted in front of him, his head swathed in bandages. Andi gave him a small smile.

"With your hair hidden, your nose sticks out more than ever."

Two years. Two years, and those were the first words out of her mouth. Andi fought the urge to just walk right out the door again.

"You put the bandages on." Bruce's voice was quiet, but there was a smile in it. "Good thing you never tried an alias as a stylist."

Andi snorted. "I just can't win, huh? You crack your skull open, and you _still_ don't shut up."

"It's a very hard skull."

"I know. I had to bore through it."

The only sound was the monitors beeping on the side of the bed.

Andi fell back on what she knew—she headed to Bruce's side and started checking the readouts, then looked over his leg to make sure everything was strapped together securely.

"Alfred's already been over this."

"I'm being thorough. Things can change fast, especially with head injuries. Follow my finger with your eyes."

Bruce obeyed, and Andi admitted, ten minutes later, that he really did seem fine—as fine as could be expected, anyway. She grabbed a big armchair after she was done and dragged it to the side of his bed. "Alfred said you wanted to see me?"

"Yeah. What happened out there?"

"How much do you remember?"

"Until you realized it was a trap. But I want to hear the full story."

And so, because Andi wanted to trust someone, and because the whole nightmare needed to go _somewhere_, she told him. About coming back to Gotham, dating JP, and finding out her mistake when Deadshot showed up and JP blew up her apartment. She expected Bruce to be asleep again by that point, or at least going fuzzy, but he still watched her like an eagle focusing on a mouse. A glance at his IV feed said why.

"How long have you been off your painkillers?"

"Keep going."

"Bruce, those aren't just for comfort, you heal faster if—"

"Keep going."

Andi hesitated and looked closer at him. His eyes were tight with pain, not just focus, but what else was she going to do? She couldn't force him to take his morphine.

So instead she kept talking, although she left out most of the details now. Ivy's letter, figuring out Deadshot's loyalties, convincing JP to turn. Phoning Bruce, and figuring out—just a few seconds too late—who Deadshot's real target was.

"I realized that meant it was a trap," she finished. "He had let me figure him out so that I'd go running to you. And I thought he was trying to come after me, so JP was looking in the wrong place for him. I tried to warn you, but by that time… I don't think Deadshot expected JP and I to stay together—maybe he thought JP would go charging after him, maybe he didn't think I'd trust him to come."

But she had, and that simple act had saved Bruce's life.

"And Valley? Where is he now?"

"_JP_ is in one of your guestrooms, unless he got antsy and left. I don't think he will. I think I've convinced him we're on the same side."

"He knows who I am."

"Yeah. Found out when we were saving your life." Andi paused, considering, then said, "Look, I know what you're thinking. But he could have done whatever he wanted when you were injured. Let Deadshot kill you, sent pictures of your face to the news, taken you or I hostage. He had us at his mercy, and he helped instead. It took me awhile to admit it, but he's on our side. Or at least not against us."

Bruce studied her, eyebrows clenched, for at least thirty seconds. "You've changed."

"Not enough that I'm comfortable with you glaring at me," Andi said. "Stop staring—I'm not about to sprout a unicorn horn or something."

He shook his head, but his gaze softened a little bit. Andi gave him a guarded smile. "I've been on the run for a long time. I'm harder. Sharper. I can't trust, I can't make friends; the second I rely on someone else, I'm vulnerable."

She paused, trying to think through how to say it, but there wasn't a brilliant, suave way to do it, so she just forced it out of her mouth. "So I needed to tell you—thank you."

"Andi…"

"I know we can't be what you or I wanted. I get it, Bruce." Andi swallowed. "I even agree. But… you came through when I needed you. And that's a hell of a lot more than I've had in a while."

Andi looked at her hands when he didn't say anything. Her voice got small. "After so long on my own, of having to save myself… do you know what that does to you? Being that alone?"

Bruce didn't answer. After a few seconds, Andi gave a quick smile, trying to lighten the mood. He didn't smile back, so she returned to staring at her hands. "Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to. You're probably the only person in the world who _does_ know that. But having someone who had my back when everything else falls apart. I know Deadshot used it against you, but still… thank you for that."

"I'm not."

Andi glanced up from studying the creases in her palm. Bruce wasn't meeting her eyes anymore, and Andi couldn't figure out what his expression was. Some weird mixture of confusion and anger and—

_Guilt._

"Andi, I'm not…"

He watched her, trying to gauge her reaction, maybe, but Andi didn't move, didn't alter her expression.

"I left you to die. When you went missing. I put Gordon on it and left to look for Harley and Ivy. I knew you were in danger. I didn't let myself care."

He finally met her eyes, then glanced over her face, like he was trying to judge her reaction. Andi wasn't sure what he saw—wasn't even sure what she was feeling herself.

"But you still came for me," she said. "When I escaped. You helped Gordon try to bring me in."

"He forced me to." Bruce looked like he _tried_ to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "He was furious with me. Told me that he'd never help again if I didn't come, that he'd go public with what had happened with Dent, give the press everything he knew about me…

"It wasn't until he said I'd do the same for anyone else in Gotham that I agreed. Because he was right. I had to do that much for anyone, even you. Andi, I'm sorry. I know what you want me to be—I wish I was that kind of person. But you… I can't… I can't let you be special. I can't be there for you. If I do, even once… Andi, I'd never stop. I'd sacrifice Gotham, burn the whole world down for you, and—"

"I'm not worth it."

She waited, some last, desperate hope still burning that he would contradict her. When he didn't, she felt the last bit of trust gutter and die.

She didn't move. Some odd, imaginative part of Andi's brain caught hold of her, thinking that maybe if she could turn her body to stone, her heart would go too.

"God, Andi, please say something."

Andi stood up. Her face was still expressionless, and she didn't look at Bruce. She walked away, stiff and straight-backed. She wouldn't show an ounce of vulnerability, wouldn't so much as blink in case he thought there were tears coming.

She ran into Alfred in the hall and sent him up to Bruce. Her voice was so cold that Alfred gave her a curious look, but when she mentioned Bruce being off his morphine, he left pretty fast.

She went back to the kitchen and cleaned up the dishes, checked on JP, texted Gordon and watched the local news to see if there was anything on Deadshot—nothing—then went down to the cave and meticulously started searching Bruce's files for information on Lawton that she and Azrael might not have had. She lost herself in the work, in transforming dry reports and meaningless data into patterns.

Things hadn't changed, Andi told herself. Not really. She was as alone as ever, strong as ever. A little more battle-scarred, but still unbroken. She didn't need Bruce Wayne's trust or friendship or whatever naïve thing she'd hoped for. There was just her and her work and survival. And that was enough.

It had to be.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! Been a couple of weeks since I've written one of these notes; didn't want to ruin the dramatic tension. But I had to do it this week just to give y'all a heads-up that posting will, unfortunately, be spotty for the month of April. I'm taking the EVIL EXAM OF EVIL (officially known as STEP 1; think SATs but more intense, more high stakes, and for medical students) a week from today, and seeing as how it's 8 hours long, I just don't think I'm going to have time to post. After that, it's traveling and friends and basically trying to re-create my wrecked social life so, again, posts will be fewer and farther between. Should be back to normal by May, and I'll try my hardest to make sure that I at least manage an every-other-week update schedule until then.

In other news, the Spurs have been on a killer winning streak lately! I could kiss them (especially Kawhi, but that's a different story). Between them and you awesome, amazing, splendiferous reviewers, the villagers are still safe from the dreaded monster!

Nah, in all seriousness, thanks _so much_ to reviewers. You guys rock.


	11. Cold

**Author's Note: **Hey y'all! I decided to put the note up top this time so that you don't have to deal with my rambling after what's (hopefully) a nice dramatic chapter end.

Thank y'all so much for the reviews and well-wishes for the exam! It's over now, so all that's left is for me to wait on tenterhooks for the next few weeks waiting to find out how I did.

In other news, the travel bug has bit me again; next post will be delayed as well because I'll be in the middle of a lovely cruise. Gotta admit, I'm a little weirded out by the idea—my current idea of international luxury is along the lines of "Drinkable tap water!" and "Free laundry machine!"—but it should be fun. Posting will resume two weeks from today at the very latest, but I'll try and see if I can get it out a bit earlier than that.

Alright, think that's it. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 11:** Cold

"Andi, I've told you everything I know."

"Come on, there has to be _something_ else. Let's try small things. Itineraries. How did the Order—"

"Have you ever considered working for the CIA? They'd protect you, and you'd do a great job as an interrogator."

"Oh ha ha." Andi scanned the list of questions and notes she'd compiled, trying to find anything she was missing. JP paced the formal parlor where she'd set up camp, restless as a caged wolf.

"Look," he said. "I'm grateful for the help, but why are you even here?"

Andi looked at him over the top of her notebook. "Because Deadshot's not going to stop. We both know that—he's been hired to kill Batman, and that means he's going to do it. His employer's his god."

"Yeah, he's been hired to kill _Batman_. You can walk away from this any time."

"He's also working for Harley and Ivy. The next person on the list is going to be me. If I'm lucky, they'll ask for a kill, but I doubt it. More likely he'd cart me off to Harley to… well, let's just say it wouldn't be quick and clean."

JP paused his pacing and grabbed an apple out of the silver dish in the center of the table, then sprawled across one of the delicately carved chairs across the table Andi was sitting at. He looked as out of place in the Manor's old world style decor as Andi felt, although she was pretty sure it was deliberate in his case.

"What about you?" she asked. "Why not go after Deadshot on your own?"

JP cut off a piece of apple with his pocket knife, but paused before he put it in his mouth. "Now that I'm rogue, the Order leaked my extracurriculars to the FBI. I'm a fugitive too."

"Oh. JP, I…" What was she supposed to say? 'Sorry they've found out you're a terrorist, but you kind of deserve it?'

The casual shrug looked only a little forced. "I don't know how much they've figured out; they're keeping it offline. Best to lay low until I can figure out—"

"Surprised you're still here."

Andi's head whipped toward the door. Bruce was standing there, leaning heavily on his crutches. She wasn't sure whether 'you' meant her or JP.

She wasn't angry, she reminded herself; she was very, very cold.

"People keep saying that," she said.

Bruce glanced at her, then turned to JP. His mouth gave a little quirk that could mean anything. "Valley."

"Wayne."

JP now had his feet up on the table, and his chair tipped back on two legs, Andi noticed. She'd barely noticed JP's faint Southern drawl before, but now it colored that one word, contrasting with Bruce's cultured, smooth accent. He tossed the apple core onto the table and wiped the juicy knife blade on his jeans.

Perfect. Two men she had every right to hate, and they were so busy posturing that Andi had to be peacemaker instead.

"Sit," she said, pointing to the chair closest to the door. Bruce made his way toward it, somehow maintaining utter dignity even hopping on one foot. Andi slid another chair his way, and he swung his bad leg onto that as he sat down. "JP, whatever you think of him, try to remember it's Alfred who cleans up after you."

JP raised his eyebrows, but he did sit up long enough to put the apple core on a napkin instead of the polished wood. His feet went back on the table a second later, but his boots were clean, and Andi decided not to push.

There was silence while Bruce and JP eyed each other, deep degrees of suspicion written across each one's face. Andi realized that neither wanted to be the first to speak, so she broke the silence herself.

"JP and I are still here because we have a common goal. None of us like each other much, but we all want Deadshot gone. If the three of us try separately, he'll find a way to use us against each other. We need to coordinate."

"You and I maybe, Andi." JP gave Bruce's bandaged leg a disdainful look. "Not sure what this guy's good for except for getting shot."

"Says the man borrowing my clothes and hiding in my house?" Bruce didn't even bother using sarcasm; his voice was direct and brisk, as if he wanted to double check an earnings report.

Andi folded her arms and sent a cold look at first one, then the other. "If we're going to argue about importance, _I'm_ the one who should go," she said. "Wayne has necessary resources, especially now that the police are on the Order's trail, not to mention that he knows Gotham to its core. You're a physical force, JP, which we badly need, and you know Deadshot better than anyone else. I'm the most expendable—are either of you going to tell me to leave or can we work together?"

She glared at both of them, trying to ignore the little voice that said they might kick her out. Bruce had said no special treatment, after all, and JP had been planning to drop her off with Gordon, then strike out on his own.

So Andi was almost surprised when both of them dropped their eyes. Not only were they not arguing, they were waiting for her to take the lead.

"Alright," she said, trying to stay calm. "I don't know tracking fugitives as well as you two; I'm out of practice, and I'm used to doing it from behind the police lines when I do. But until Deadshot resurfaces, I think the best we can do is gather information. As much as we can, as fast as we can. JP, I know you hate all the talking, but I'm going to keep grilling you for intel on him and the Order—now that we know his employers, we'll see if we can figure out what Deadshot's going to do next. Wayne, I'm assuming you have contacts in Gotham. We need to know what they've got."

"I'll go out tomorrow night."

"Absolutely not."

"They'll only talk to me."

"I'll take care of it." Andi moved to a new topic of conversation before Bruce could protest or ask what she meant. "Even with that information, I don't think we'll stop Deadshot from killing again. We can try to figure things out based on what the two of you can drum up about him, but the thing is, his actions and targets revolve around—"

"His employer," JP said.

"Right. If we want to stop him, we need to figure out what Harley and Ivy are up to. It's a longshot, but…" Andi looked Bruce in the eye. "I'd like to talk to Lucius Fox."

JP looked up from the second apple he was cutting. "Fox is in on this too? Wayne's CEO?"

Bruce ignored him. "For what?"

"He has access to pretty much every database, bank transaction, and CCTV in the States, doesn't he? Better than even what JP managed when he was with the Order?"

"Yes…" Bruce said slowly.

"We can coordinate that into a search for Harley and Ivy. If they so much as poke their noses outside, we'll know."

"I've looked for them for two years, Taylor. Using those resources, and more. I haven't found anything."

_Taylor_. Andi tried not to show any hurt. She'd been calling him 'Wayne' ever since he walked in, after all.

"Yes, but it hasn't exactly been your priority, has it? I'm not blaming you, but they've been out of Gotham and you've been busy shutting down the last of the Black Mask's drug cartel and finding that serial killer—the Riddler person. Now that Harley and Ivy are the main threat, we can put more power towards searching them out."

Andi paused, then decided there was no point in being modest. "Besides, you didn't have me before. This is the one area where I _am_ better than either of you—I know these women very well, or at least I did. I might be able to pick up patterns or information a stranger or a computer would dismiss."

That was all she had to say, but they both looked at her as if expecting her to do something else. After a second, Andi realized she should probably find something encouraging, or at least final-sounding to close things off, but for the life of her, she couldn't come up with anything; she hadn't exactly planned to head this impromptu meeting. After a minute, Bruce got his crutches under his arm and heaved himself up. As he limped out without a word, Andi grabbed her pad of paper and turned back to JP.

"So. I was wondering if you could tell me a bit more about where and how Deadshot buys his weapons. Are they all custom-made, or does he…"

JP groaned.

* * *

"Mr. Fox?"

"Miss Taylor." He held out a hand formally enough, but his voice was warm, as if they were old friends. Andi took it and returned his easy smile. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, water?"

"Coffee would be wonderful." Andi took a seat at the table he motioned her to and pulled a couple of files out of the briefcase Bruce had loaned her.

She'd been worried, at first, about this meeting; Lucius Fox was the only member of Bruce's team she'd never really worked with. In fact, the only time they'd met, he'd helped to kidnap her and she'd attacked him—not the best introduction. But, as he kept up a light chat about different coffee blends and his own preference for tea and the birth of his newest grandchild, she somehow found herself relaxing. There was something about the man that just made her feel safe.

"So this is where the magic happens?" Andi asked as he finally joined her at the table. She took a small sip of coffee before motioning to the room around them. _Armory_ was probably the best word for it; Andi saw at least two other Tumblers, an impressive array of different guns and ammo for a man who never used them, several prototypes of the suit, and other things she couldn't even put a name to. "All the R&amp;D for Bat—Bruce Wayne's… interests?"

"He's got some diverse tastes," Mr. Fox murmured.

"Then I hope you can help me with a new one."

"Yes, he mentioned you might come to see me."

"I'm doing a, uh, a social experiment," Andi said. "There are two people I'm very interested in finding. We've tried looking with your standard surveillance technology—nothing. They're good at hiding."

She paused, but Fox just pressed his fingers together and leaned forward, waiting for her to go on.

"The thing is, I know a lot about these women. Things that a computer wouldn't pick up. From their ideals and habits, all the way down to what time they get up in the morning and what they put in their coffee."

"Useful knowledge."

"I… don't know if you're being sarcastic or not." Andi smiled at Fox. "But it is. From what I understand, you're the person to go to for technology. I was hoping that we could mesh my knowledge with your search programs, and maybe improve on both. Your computers would learn to look for patterns that they haven't searched for before, and they could process a lot more data than I ever would on my own."

Fox nodded, thinking about it. "I should be able to help you. But you realize that this won't be quick? I'll need to work with you for hours on getting your information, and gathering that amount of data could take weeks. Months, even."

"I understand," Andi said. "Before we begin, I have one other request, though."

"Oh?"

"Bruce's suit. Could it be sized to fit someone else?

* * *

"No."

"Absolutely not."

Andi sat back in her chair and gave a tightlipped smile to Bruce and JP. "Well. I'm glad you two can agree on _something_."

"This isn't funny, Taylor." Andi didn't know how Bruce could look so threatening. He was still bruised and bandaged, but even half-reclining in the cushy armchair Alfred had brought in for him, he looked fearsome. "You want to make _Azrael_ into the Batman."

"Fox already agreed to alter the suit, and JP's got nearly the same physical build as you. So why not?"

"Because I'm Batman. Azrael is dangerous and he doesn't follow the same code. I can't let him take over the mask as if we were changing shifts or something."

"Yeah, I'm still right here, you two," JP said. He grimaced at the empty bowl and looked around the parlor. "Have we got any more apples?"

Andi ignored him and kept her eyes fixed on Bruce.

"I wouldn't ask unless I had to."

"These contacts depend on me to keep them safe. I can't tell someone else their identities and endanger them."

_Like you couldn't endanger me?_ Andi stopped the words just shy of leaving her mouth, clenched her teeth tight around them. It didn't matter, she reminded herself. She was past that. And even if she wasn't, making cutting comments wouldn't persuade Bruce.

She still had to look away to stop herself from glaring at him.

"We'll find another way," Bruce said. "Go to Gordon and ask what _his_ informants are saying—"

"There's a reason you have your own sources instead of GCPD's!" Andi snapped, now staring daggers at the chandelier above them. "Yours are better."

"And I'm not going to risk—"

"They're already at risk." Andi said. She finally looked back at Bruce, met his stare dead on. "You offer them protection in exchange for information, right? That's got to make people mad. And with the rumor going around that you've been shot… the longer you stay gone, the greater the chance someone takes a chance to get revenge on your _associates_.

"Getting the Batman out in public, letting him be seen, will be the best protection they can get. Not to mention, word will get back to Deadshot that you're alive and on the streets; right now, he probably thinks you're either dead or horribly injured. If he sees you, whatever else he's planning to do will have to stop because he'll know he missed his target."

"So you plan to use me as bait?" JP asked.

_Fantastic,_ Andi thought. _Placate one of them and the other gets into a snit._

"Doesn't feel so great, does it?" she asked. His mouth flattened and she hurried to add, "But no. The first few times you go out won't be enough to make him come; he'll need to watch, figure out a new strategy to draw in the Batman. By the time he's ready to attack, I'm hoping Wayne will have recovered. This isn't a permanent fix I'm going for. Wayne, you're not _giving up_ the Batman. This is just something that'll get us through long enough until both of you have found your feet."

She paused, waiting for them to contradict her. Neither of them did, but they didn't look an inch closer to giving in, either. "It's the best option we have. Any one of us could destroy the others if we wanted to; we've got no choice except to rely on each other. So why not take that trust a step farther and make it _useful_ instead of a burden?"

JP looked like he had when he'd tried to decide if she was lying about Deadshot. "You really trust Wayne, Andi? After… everything?"

Andi glanced between them both—Bruce's stare suddenly felt sharp enough to cut. She hadn't told JP anything about losing Bruce again, except to coldly inform him when asked that she was 'absolutely fine, and I don't need you to wreck my personal life again.'

Come to think of it, that would have told him everything he needed to know.

"It depends on what you mean," Andi said. "Do I trust him to have my back? Give a damn about me? No. And he won't do it for you either. But he _will_ help us with this—it's in Gotham's best interests if Deadshot's taken care of."

JP went quiet, considering for so long Andi thought he'd say no, but at long last he nodded.

"Alright. You win."

Andi allowed her frozen expression to thaw; not a smile, but not as hostile as it had been earlier. He answered with his usual, heart melting grin, although she knew it was an effort. She took a steadying breath and then turned to Bruce.

"No," he said before she could open her mouth.

"Oh, right. Now that the mighty Bruce Wayne has said 'no,' I'm going to give up before I've had my say."

"You've said plenty," Bruce said. "I'm saying no."

"What are you going to do instead?" Andi demanded. "Sit here and watch your city burn? You may be willing to sacrifice Gotham, but I'm not."

She'd crossed a line. In a split second, his eyes went from sharp to _furious. _Andi stood to face him and summoned up all of her own righteous anger. The bitterness she'd buried under professionalism finally broke free.

"You chose a city over me. Fine. But don't you _dare_ decide something's more important than Gotham now. Not the Batman, not your pride, and not you feeling guilt free."

There was a deathly silence. Andi felt quite sure that, if she had been the slightest bit of a physical threat, Batman would have attacked her, regardless of his injuries.

"Andi, Wayne," JP said quietly. "Walk away."

Andi didn't move, didn't even blink.

"Come on—"

"He can wear the suit," Bruce said. His voice had gone rough, like the Batman's. Their eyes were still locked. "But you're going with him. If he messes up, if he betrays us or kills, I want you to see it. And I want you to know that it's on you."

"No way," JP said. "You can't put her in danger because—"

"Fine," Andi said. "No, JP, I mean it. I'll do it."

She should have left it at that, but Andi couldn't resist one last, parting shot. Her voice was so cold that she was surprised her breath didn't condense in front of her. "You're right. Whatever JP does, it's on my conscience. But me? If I get caught in the crossfire, or Deadshot takes me out? That's on yours. Guess it's a good thing I'm not important enough for you to care."


	12. Cameras

**Chapter 12:** Cameras

"Whoa," Andi said as she walked into the cave.

Batman spun around, cape flaring, masked face towering over her, quite impressive—or he would have been if he hadn't been grinning in a most un-Batman-like way.

"What do you think?" JP growled. Andi winced.

"Um, the less speaking the better if that's the best you can do," she said. "Does your mask fit?"

"More or less," JP pulled the mask off by its ear, leaving a tousled mess of hair behind. "Although if anyone notices Batman's now blue-eyed…"

"I brought tinted contacts," Andi said, holding up a tiny box. "Fitted for your prescription and everything."

"Should have known." JP pulled off the gauntlets and gloves. "You think of everything, don't you?"

"That wasn't my catch, it was…" She couldn't quite make herself say Bruce's name.

JP had his eyelids pried open with one hand and a contact balanced on his finger, but he still paused to give her a curious glance.

"You know, when I first kidnapped you, I wondered why you weren't terrified of me or Deadshot. After seeing you tear into him, I realized we're small fry compared to what you're used to."

Andi wasn't quite sure whether that was a compliment or an insult, so she just stayed quiet and watched him place the contacts.

"You talk to him at all?"

"Sure. He gave me the contacts, remember?"

"That's not what I mean—gah, these sting_._" JP blinked fast. "Look, I'm on your side here. And normally I'd be kicking Wayne's ass right now for treating a friend like that. But if I'm going out there, risking my life, I need you two to have my back, not fight. You were the one who said we needed to pull together to survive."

Andi fiddled with the bottom of her shirt, hoping he'd say something if she didn't, but JP waited her out.

"Wayne's stubborn," she finally said. "Convincing him to do anything is next to impossible—unless you get his temper riled up. And the best way to do that is to imply that he's falling down on his duty to Gotham."

"You trying to tell me you didn't mean it?"

"Oh no. I meant every word. But I was doing it for a reason—I'm no more angry with him now than I was before that argument."

"And how angry is that?"

"Still pretty damn angry, but under control now that I've cooled down."

"Maybe you should tell _him_ that?"

Andi shrugged. JP frowned at her.

"_That's_ more how Batman looks," Andi said. "If you can just get your voice to match, you'll be good to go."

"Andi…"

"Alright, fine. We have an hour left. I'll try to say something." There were a lot of other things she could get done in an hour—if she never had the chance to talk to Bruce, well, it wouldn't be _her _fault…

"Try to say something to who?" Despite his crutches, Bruce moved across the uneven cave floor as smoothly as if he was walking.

"Andi was just saying she wanted to go over some last minute details with you," JP said. "I'm going to go back upstairs and grab something to eat. You should tell your butler you're almost out of apples, Wayne."

He grinned at her and sauntered off, his grand exit marred by the cloak dragging through a puddle of muck from the waterfall. Andi was left staring at Bruce, trying to put her usual, cool mask back into place.

"I've been told to apologize," she said. "JP doesn't want us fighting—thinks it might endanger how we work together. So. For what it's worth, I—"

Bruce scoffed; Andi's temper flared, but she quashed it back down. Apologies didn't mesh well with shouting matches. "Something funny?"

"You look about as sorry as a cat with its hackles up." Bruce waved his hand before she could protest. "Don't bother. If anyone's apologizing, it should be me. I was the one who played you."

"What do you mean?"

"Fox. He told me your idea to make Azrael into Batman before you even made it back to the Manor, and I decided to go with it. I just pretended to disagree."

"Wait, what?"

"I know you get mad when things don't go your way." Andi felt her eyebrows raise dangerously, and Bruce grimaced. "It's something we both do—I'm not blaming you for it. And it's when we're the most easy to manipulate."

"Care to explain why you got me mad and played me?"

"Get off your high horse—that's exactly what you did to me."

"Fine," Andi said, temper not abating one bit. "Care to explain?"

"Because it makes no tactical sense to send you with JP. I needed to make it look like I was being vindictive when I insisted you go with him."

Andi paused, angry rant headed off by curiosity. "Alright. What aren't you telling me? Why do you want me out there—without JP knowing I'm doing something?"

Bruce glanced over his shoulder, checking that JP wasn't there, then handed Andi a small cellphone. "Like I said, Fox told me about your idea. I gave him the go-ahead but asked him to… modify the suit."

"Ok?"

"There are electrical wires running through the armor. Not enough to kill, but enough to knock him out—anything from stunning him briefly, to keeping him out for a good five or ten minutes depending on how long you hold it."

Andi glanced at the phone in her hand. "This has the trigger?"

"No. The trigger's your GSU ring. I modified it when you went to shower the other night."

She shook her head. "I think you just like messing with this thing by now."

"Take it off and look. You see where the school crest is embossed on the side?"

"Yeah?"

"You can twist it forward now. That's the trigger—as long as it's twisted like that, it'll shock him. But that's not all."

"Of course not."

"Press and hold the stone in the center."

Andi gave him a suspicious look. "This isn't going to, I don't know, release a burning chemical into his eyes or something, is it?"

"Close, but no." Bruce grinned at Andi's horrified look, then said, "He won't notice a thing."

Hesitantly, Andi pressed down. The screen in her other hand flickered, and then a video feed came up showing—

"Um, why do you have a camera in your own kitchen?"

"Kitchen? Should have known Valley would go there."

The camera blinked in and out for a second, sweeping over the schematics of the Tumbler Andi had made for JP, then panned over to the door. A second later and the camera was carried towards the exit. A hand—wearing black gauntlets and gloves and clutching a half-eaten apple—reached out to grab the door handle.

"JP," Andi realized. "You planted a camera on him. Where did you hide it? Inside the suit?"

"Think about it. You'll get there in a second."

"…The contacts. You put a camera _in his eyes._"

"Fox dreamed them up. The light hits a photosensitive molecule and as it changes shape it sends a chemical trace that—"

"Gives me the Cliff Notes version. Or better yet, the Spyware for Dummies one."

"You see everything he sees as he sees it—even if he gives you the slip, you'll know what he's doing. It works well, but has a limited transmission range. You need to be within a half-mile of him to pick up the video feed."

"Hence why you're sending me with him."

"Exactly." Bruce paused. "Andi, I think you're right. I think he is trying to do the right thing. But I can't risk Batman being misused. I need you… I need you to stop him if he goes too far. Even if it endangers him or you. Can you do that?"

Andi stared at the phone in her hand. JP was rubbing his eye, making the feed go dark on one side. Against all logic, Andi realized that he was her friend.

"It's not fair," she said softly. "You make sure I can't trust you, then put this kind of responsibility on me."

Bruce glanced at her and, for just a moment, his eyes softened so much he looked like the man she'd fallen in love with—understanding and protective and terribly alone. The person, she suddenly realized, that he wouldn't let her see, not because he wasn't there, but because he _had_ to be alone, waging his one-man war for Gotham's soul.

Bitterness and loss poured out of her like blood, so strong Andi almost hurled the ring away. She could see it, smashed on the rocks, several thousand dollars worth of prototype ruined just like that.

Why not? Gotham took everything from her. Why should she give anything back? Promise to hurt her only friend, lose the only person she loved, to protect a city that wasn't worth saving?

Instead, she tucked the phone into her pocket, although she kept the ring in her hands; she'd have to put it on a chain around her neck so as not to accidentally set it off. When she looked back at Bruce, his expression had changed to regret instead. "Can you do it?"

"Yeah."

Andi took a deep breath and stared at the bridge of his nose so that it would look like she was meeting his eyes. "Look. I know we were both manipulating each other, but I still… I shouldn't have come after you like I did. I'm sorry."

"You did what you had to do."

"I know. I just… I wish it didn't have to be this way. Any of this."

There was a long pause. Andi wouldn't let herself actually look at Bruce's expression but she could almost feel the resolve shudder, then firm.

"Me too. But it does."

"Right. Yeah. It does." Andi tried to make her voice businesslike, but wasn't sure she succeeded.

"Andi…" It was the first time he'd called her something besides 'Taylor.' Andi tried to ignore that. "Take care of yourself."

"Don't worry about that." Andi flashed a bleak smile. "I'm the only one who does. I've gotten pretty good at it."

* * *

The Tumbler was uncomfortably quiet.

Andi wasn't quite sure what sort of conversation to make—the Tumbler didn't exactly seem like the place for small talk and, for all its bells and whistles, it didn't have a radio. She'd checked three stops ago. With absolutely zero progress on finding Deadshot, it looked like the great big plan she'd fought for was a dud.

"The hospital next?" she asked, even though she knew full well that it was. "Our last stop, right?"

"Yep."

There was silence again. Andi frowned. _That_ had gone far.

"You know, you're not bad at playing him," she tried. "I guess it helps that he tries not to talk on the job."

JP turned to look at her. It wasn't a problem—the Tumbler was steering itself—but it was the biggest reaction she'd got out of him that night.

"You used to do this with him?"

"A couple times, when I needed to look at crime scenes. And then there was the time he turned up in my apartment and terrorized _me._ Seems to be a habit with the guys I know."

'Batman's' lips quirked. No matter how many times JP did that, it was still weird to see. "You sure can pick 'em, Andi."

"They pick me!" Andi said. "I'm some kind of magnet for psychopaths."

"What does that say about you?"

"That I'm completely normal. Magnets, remember? I'm your opposite."

JP wasn't the only one who snorted—the com in her ear carried Bruce's disbelief over as well.

"You're almost to the hospital," Bruce said. "Look over the profile one more time and make sure you're ready."

Andi almost told Bruce not to micromanage, but she didn't exactly have room to talk about being a control freak. She pulled up the profile on the Tumbler's console screen—stupid thing had a computer screen but no radio—and read the summary out for JP.

"Doctor Jeanne Benoit, ER doctor. Work brings her into contact with information on gang wars, human trafficking, and drug circles, the sort of evidence that's too thin for the police to act on. Think you can recognize her from the picture?"

JP rolled his eyes—another thing Andi never saw Batman do. "A girl that hot? Yeah, no problem. You've signaled her already, right?"

"Yep. Buzzed her pager. She'll either be waiting on the roof or come up as soon as she can."

The Tumbler halted near the base of the hospital and JP climbed out, looking up at the sheer, twenty story climb on smooth glass.

"Why," he muttered, pulling out the grapple gun, "does Batman always have to meet them on the roof?"

"Too much for you to handle, Azrael?" Bruce asked.

JP was already so high up Andi could barely see him—a black speck that she had to crane her neck to find. She switched to the video feed instead and saw that his gloves were clinging to the glass like lizard's feet. "I'm just worried about how you'll do it when you get back in the game. You're not getting any younger."

Andi scrambled for a change of subject to head off the argument. "Exactly why are we using code names?" she asked. "It feels like some stupid spy movie from the fifties."

"Good practice," JP grunted. "Say I need to get your attention while talking to a suspect. Or Batman has to communicate with us while he's building an alibi at a date or party. We need to avoid giving anything away."

"Right, because calling someone 'Oracle' in public is really going to be less conspicuous than 'Andi.'"

"I agree with Azrael," Bruce said. "It feels strange at first, but the habit helps protect all of us."

"Besides, it kind of fits, doesn't it? Naming you Oracle, I mean," JP said. "What with the way you always seem to figure out what will happen before it does."

Andi opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. If Bruce and JP could agree on something, she'd put up with any number of stupid nicknames.

The heat vision goggles JP pulled on said that someone was already on the roof, so he waited, just under the lip of the railing, until she turned away, then glided up behind her. Benoit, a pretty woman with curly brown hair, jumped like a scalded cat when she turned back and Batman was standing there, waiting.

"Any news?" JP grumbled in a passable imitation of Bruce.

Benoit handed over a flash drive of data. Despite the scare, her voice was no-nonsense, her green eyes sharp. "Work abuse cases with illegal immigrants; looks like a factory's hiring them for dangerous jobs. They can't legally complain and the company won't have to pay health costs when they're injured. More human trafficking than normal with Eastern European teenagers. Smattering of new drug cases that might be something. Couple of child abuse cases, not linked to anything as far as I know, but worth stopping. Those are on the files." She paused, and Andi could see her fidgeting through JP's eyes; her former certainty had disappeared. "And there's something personal."

"Personal."

"A co-worker of mine's missing. Dr. McCoy. I know most guys just run off with their secretaries, but something about it seems off."

Bruce sighed like he'd been asked to get a cat down from a tree, but Andi butted in before he could say anything. "Azrael, Deadshot was injured. He could have grabbed a doctor."

"Would he have been that careless?" Bruce asked.

"If he was seriously injured, he might not have had a choice. You know that better than anyone."

JP had ignored them and already pulled a photo of Deadshot up on his phone. "You see him nearby?"

Benoit shook her head. "But I wasn't there the day McCoy went missing. Had that afternoon off."

"We'll check the security cameras," Bruce said. "Head out without her seeing."

JP glanced at Dr. Benoit's feet. "Your shoe's untied," he said. In the split second that she looked down, he flipped over the roof, cloak coming out to catch him halfway down.

_"Your shoe's untied?"_ Bruce repeated.

JP laughed and caught an updraft.

* * *

_I should really go to bed._

Andi stared at the black and white screen, trying to ignored the early morning sunlight that filtered through the waterfall. Bruce and JP were only a few feet away, Bruce researching the doctor's life and history for clues, JP on the phone with employees from that night who might have seen McCoy disappear; from what Andi could hear, he was posing as a security consultant looking for feedback.

Bruce. JP. One was injured and the other had spent all night climbing skyscrapers; Andi couldn't be the first one to call it quits when they had to be more tired than she was.

_Unless they're thinking the same thing_, she thought. _That they can't go to sleep before me or it'll be showing weakness._

That sounded entirely too probable. Andi paused the security video she was in charge of and looked at the clock. Eight AM. She'd give it another fifteen minutes.

The security cameras for Gotham General's employee parking lot were pretty terrible; mostly they focused on the gate to make sure nobody got in without a pricy employee parking pass. Security was more concerned with making sure nobody skipped out on their parking fees than protecting the people inside.

Wait… there. Andi rewound the video a little bit, and _finally_, there it was, Dr. McCoy's sedan driving out of the lot four hours later than it should have.

"I've got his car," Andi said. Bruce and JP both looked up, as fast and eager as if they'd heard a gunshot, and Andi nodded to herself. Definitely both ready to quit, just not to admit it. They came over to join her and Andi pointed to the scene.

"It's too pixelated to tell us much, but at least it gives us a timeframe. He left at 9:47 PM, and it definitely looks like Dr. McCoy driving. There might be something in the backseat, but that could be anything—a trick of the light, his bag, anything else. Resolution's too poor to tell." She glanced at both of them, a tired smile playing on her lips. "What a shame I don't have any tech geniuses on hand that could deal with that."

JP and Bruce looked at each other, and for once they were in sync. Their hands came down on the keyboard together, and when they both paused, as if they were about to argue over it, JP grinned, then went to get another one. Andi took the chance to jump out of her chair and head over to the side—she knew when she was out of her depth. She took Bruce's swivel-chair instead and tried not to drift off while snatches of technobabble drifted over.

"If you just enhance—yes, like that."

"No, that'll just sharpen it up without giving more detail."

"If we overlay the frames, it'll work around it."

"But if it's moving—whoa, how did you get ahold of _that_? Does the NSA even have that kind of tech?"

"No. I won't sell it to them."

"Good to know you have some standards, Wayne."

Andi gave up and listened to the waterfall instead.

A half hour later, JP punched his fist in the air while Bruce beckoned her over. "We've got him."

The image was still grainy, and the rest of the photo was blurred beyond recognition now, but there it was: a hand reaching out, gripping the back seat of Dr. McCoy's car.

A gun was mounted on its wrist.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hey gang! Back from cruising, so I thought I'd give y'all an update today (I'm considering moving posts in general to Mondays too; I'll see how my new schedule works out).

There's a minor character from old NCIS seasons in here, so if any of you are fans, let me know if you spotted them! Also a very minor Star Trek reference because, hey, if you can't admit to being a nerd when writing comic book fanfiction, when _can_ you do it?

In other news, the Spurs are currently tied 2-2 against the Clippers, and I'm biting my nails off hoping that we can pull off the first of many upsets. But a gang of reviewers, old and new, are at least doing their part to fill the void! Thank you guys so much, and I hope you're still enjoying!


	13. Analysis

**Chapter 13:** Analysis

_Ring. Ring._

Andi clawed her way out from under her blankets and glared at the phone. Who called people at one in the afternoon?

Alright, stupid question. But who would call _her_ at one in the afternoon; everyone she knew was nocturnal and in the same house except for—

_Ring. Ring._

Andi snatched the phone up. _ "What_ Gordon?"

Her old boss paused and Andi ran a hand through tangled hair. "Sorry. Late night. Wasn't expecting a call."

Gordon didn't answer for a few more seconds, then said in his most dignified voice, "A couple of beat cops found that car you wanted."

"Dr. McCoy's?" Andi said. Instantly, she was wide awake. "Where?"

"Down near the docks. No sign of Lawton in the surrounding area."

Andi was already out of bed and pulling on her jeans before she paused and remembered she couldn't exactly go out in public. "Alright. We'll be there as soon as it's dark."

This time, Gordon's silence was less injured-dignity and more bad-news. "Taylor… the cops already called it in. There's a body and the scene's cordoned off; MCU forensics is on its way."

"Oh. Perfect." She bit her lip. "How long can you hold them off?"

"Three hours? Four, maybe?"

No way for Batman to come, then. And with both JP and Bruce unable to be seen near her…

"I'll put my best people on it," Gordon said. "Ones I trust to give us—"

"No. Don't worry. I'll, uh—" Andi quickly counted up how long it would take to get to the Narrows. "I'll be there in half and hour."

"No you won't!"

"Got a better idea? Your people won't know what to look for and let's face it—I _am_ your best person, and the only one you can trust with this."

"You shouldn't even be in Gotham," Gordon said. "Lawton isn't after you, there's no reason—"

"There's every reason. If Harley and Ivy sent him, it's only a matter of time before they come too and they _will_ be after me. I need to make a stand somewhere."

"And putting yourself in the open's the place to do it?"

Andi moved the phone to her other ear and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She'd only just gotten up and dressed, and already she could feel the start of a headache. "Gordon… for once we've got the upper hand, here. We've got a solid lead on this guy and some amazing people on the case. If we can just use that instead of squabbling, we can bring down a real threat before he hurts me or Batman or anyone else. Like you said, he isn't even after me—and with his code, the way he listens to his employers, that means I should be safe."

"Unless he's trying to trap you or—"

"Gordon, we are _really_ wasting time here. Will you give me the address or do I have to use the police scanner?"

He didn't answer for about thirty seconds, and Andi winced; the police scanner was in the cave, and the odds of getting there without Bruce's security systems alerting him about what she was up to were slim to none.

"Avenue H and Chapel Street," Gordon said. "I'll be there to let you in."

"That's not—"

"Quit while you're ahead, Taylor."

"Yes sir." Not allowing herself to think of what she was doing, of the risks she was taking, Andi snapped the phone shut and turned to pulling on her shoes. _Hurry._

* * *

It felt _wrong_ to be outside in daylight.

That feeling most people got when they were outside late at night? Or in an enclosed space? Andi had it full force. The sunlight was too bright and exposing; the open street gave her no cover. Even with only a couple people out, it felt like every eye was on her.

_I really have stepped back into Batman's world._

Andi checked herself in the rearview mirror again. Thank God for forensic coveralls. Even if someone was there that she recognized—and she had no doubt Gordon had sent them away if there were—the formless white uniform literally covered her from head to toe, a hood even coming up to shield her red-tipped hair. Combined with the surgical mask, heavy make-up, and a set of glasses thick enough to put an eighties nerd to shame, she looked nothing like the dead trace analyst she'd been two years ago.

There were two officers already there, guarding the crime scene tape, but this was the Narrows; instead of gathering a crowd like it usually did, everyone seemed to be making themselves scarce. Gordon was talking to one of the few civilians there, but as soon as Andi climbed out of her car, bag of equipment in tow, he broke it off to let her in.

"They touch anything when they found it?" Andi asked, nodding to the car.

"Just the door to open it, and then checking for a pulse," Gordon said. "And they opened the trunk to make sure no one was back there."

"Do we have the vic's ID?"

"Come see for yourself."

Andi followed him around to the front of the car—fighting down her gag reflex as the horrible, all too familiar smell of a rotting body hit her—and flinched when Gordon pointed to the body. No real need to look for cause of death; even with decay setting in, the damage to the face was unmistakable. A pulpy mush like something out of a horror movie.

"They checked for a _pulse?_"

"First dead body for Blake. Rookie mistake, but an honest one."

Old instincts took over. She grabbed the camera from her bag and took several photos of the corpse, trying to capture the way it slumped over the wheel, and the damage done to its face and head. The camera helped; it was as if the lens somehow made her more distant from what she was seeing, a cold, clinical case study.

"He was shot in the back of the head," she murmured, leaning in to the car so she could take a picture of the hole in the headrest, matching the small one at the base of the victim's skull. "Exited straight out the face. That's why he's…"

"Unrecognizable?"

Andi realized she'd managed to smear blood on the lens of one of her camera. "Yeah. That and the fact that he's been here for awhile."

Forcing away her disgust, she leaned closer to the face, trying to judge the angle. "Hand me my measuring tape?"

"Here."

Andi was quiet for a minute as she held it up, tilting it back and forth between the entrance and exit wounds.

"I'll have to run some measurements when I get back to the—" she stopped herself from saying 'cave' just in time, "—lab, but I'm pretty sure the shooter was sitting in the backseat. If he'd been standing up, the bullet's trajectory would have tilted more toward the ground."

"Is it Dr. McCoy?"

"I don't know." Andi finally straightened from the front seat. "The hair color matches. Not to mention that he's in hospital scrubs. But the skin's all discolored and bubbled by now and…"

"His face is blown off."

"Yeah. If the shooter was…" the two patrol officers weren't paying any attention, so she went ahead and said the name, "Deadshot, he's clever enough to find a lookalike. I don't know why he would, but I can't rule out the possibility. I'll run prints and DNA, but McCoy's not on file, so we don't have anything to compare them to."

"I'll send someone to his house," Gordon promised. "Unless you want to take care of _that_ too?"

Andi ignored the sarcasm. "No, I think GCPD's forensics can manage that much," she said. "Although if you send someone from MCU, that'd be even better."

Gordon huffed in annoyance, and Andi turned from the body to look around the scene.

"Alright, with the car door closed until we got here, I can't tell you anything about insect activity—you'll have to pull in a specialist—but going by the gas bubbles in the skin, it looks like we're over the three day mark for time of death. I'm going to photograph the area, and then we'll need to move the body so I can confirm the time of death and look at the blood spatter, because—"

A car pulled up and a man in another set of forensics coveralls came out. Andi cut off and turned to Gordon. "I thought you'd found a way to put them off!"

"I did. Don't know what he's doing here. Stay put and I'll—"

The driver pulled crutches from the passenger seat.

Andi swore so badly that Gordon turned to stare at her instead of the person approaching them. "No need. It's _him._"

Even with crutches, Bruce moved with so much confidence that the patrolmen didn't challenge him. He ducked under the tape and nodded to them. "Gordon." His raspy Batman voice sounded odd coming from the white forensics uniform.

"What are you doing here?" Andi snarled. "This guy's been trying to kill you—what if he's watching right now?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"It's not me he's after."

Gordon rolled his eyes and wandered away. Andi and Bruce both ignored him, except for Bruce lowering his voice and speaking in his normal tone.

"Why do you think it took me so long to get here? I've spent the last half hour making sure there's no one watching. And why I'm camouflaged."

That much was true, at least; along with a mask and dark glasses, he'd even put some kind of cream or make-up on that turned his skin three shades darker than normal. Andi stared at him for a long moment, then decided there was no way she was winning this one. _She'd_ been the one to put herself in danger first, after all.

"Why did you come?" she asked. "No offense, but I don't think you can do much to protect me like this."

"You're not the only one who knows how to investigate a crime scene."

Andi snorted, then really wished she hadn't—breathing deeply was a terrible idea next to an old corpse.

"Come on," Bruce said. "The sooner you put me to work, the sooner we can both get out of here. Photos next?"

"Photos." Andi pulled the camera off her neck and passed it to him. "I'll get to work on the sketches."

For the next fifteen minutes or so, there was nothing but the sound of a clicking camera and Andi's pencil moving on paper—she'd never been more than an indifferent artist at best, and now that she'd been out of the game for a couple of years, she was erasing a lot more than she wanted to.

"I've got blood," Bruce called out. Andi and Gordon both hurried over and saw that he was pointing through the car window to the backseat. "It's hard to see, but it looks like there might be some surgical instruments back there—"

"Don't open the door!" Andi snapped. Gordon snatched his hand back. "This isn't a TV crime show where you can just investigate willy-nilly; you'll destroy or ignore half the subtle clues if you don't go systematically."

Neither Gordon nor Bruce looked pleased with her tone, but Andi's apologetic grimace was hidden under the mask. "Just… let's just finish the photos first. Then we'll search around the car, take fingerprints from the outside of the door, and _then_ we can move to the inside. Alright?"

Despite the fact that Andi tried to hurry, it was a solid hour of fingerprinting, photographing the corpse, and sampling the tire's dried mud, before she pronounced herself ready to move inside the car, and that was only because she caught sight of Bruce's face—there was a pallor that the fake skin tone couldn't quite hide, and she had to remind herself that he was still only three days out from major surgery. They needed to finish this sooner rather than later.

"Yep, it's blood alright," she said, once they'd finished documenting the stains properly. "Luminol's lighting up better than a Christmas tree. It's all over the medical equipment back here too."

"What do you think happened?" Gordon asked. Andi shook her head.

"It's pretty obvious there was some kind of surgery going on, but I'll need to look closer to figure out what type."

"Not just that. The full story."

"Full story?" Andi tilted her head back, trying to organize the information. "Alright, it's shaky, but this is my best guess. JP shot Lawton that night—not just a flesh wound, something major. Deadshot couldn't walk into an ER, so he found a surgeon leaving work, and made McCoy operate on him right there in the garage. Hence why McCoy left work four hours later than he was supposed to."

"That would have meant he had a gun on the doctor while he was being cut into," Bruce growled. "And there's a lot of blood. Could he do that?"

"Could you?"

Bruce didn't hesitate. "If I had to."

Andi looked at the steel in Bruce's eyes, and remembered Deadshot's dead, dead gaze. "I don't normally let my gut overrule the evidence," she said, "but I believe you. And I think Deadshot could too. He'd have been holding on by a thread, but I think he could just barely cling to consciousness. If he had to."

"Alright, what then?" Gordon asked. He looked queasy—Andi didn't blame him.

"He needed somewhere to hole up and heal. He was fading fast, so he made McCoy go to the Narrows, where nobody asks too many questions and there's an open market for painkillers on every street corner. Shot McCoy in the back of the head, escaped on foot."

"Why not leave McCoy's body and drive off?"

Andi hesitated. "I don't know. It would have made sense."

"Because he was hit in the arm or face."

They both turned to Bruce. She thought she saw a hint of amusement in his eyes, that he'd figured out something she hadn't, but he covered it quickly.

"He walked instead of drove. He was able to walk but couldn't drive. That means face or arms, not torso or legs."

Andi glanced at the dried blood again. "You're right. It would explain this too." She pointed at a small, clear stain. "I need to analyze this to confirm what it is… but given how it fits the blood pattern, I think it might be from a burst eyeball. Vitreous fluid. If I'm right, JP's bullet must have hit him in the eye. Incredible that he survived—probably without brain damage, too, if he was able to pull this off."

"He can't have gotten far, then," Gordon said. "Not if he's that hurt. I'll send some teams out to—"

"No!" Bruce and Andi said together. Andi noticed, with some annoyance, that Gordon glared at _her_ but not Batman.

"You want us to catch this guy?"

"Not at the cost of your men's lives," Andi said. "I don't care how injured he is, Deadshot's going to be armed to the teeth and _very_ dangerous."

"Then who—"

"I'll go in a few hours," Bruce said. Gordon gave him a skeptical look.

"A few hours? You're about to fall over."

"A few hours."

Andi could almost see it—the moment Gordon went from skepticism to incredulous belief. She'd become so used to seeing Batman as _Bruce_, fearsome, resolved, but oh-so-human _Bruce_ that she had almost forgotten the powerful mythos he carried. The way even his allies, like Gordon, believed he was a legend, not a man.

_That's why he can't—won't—let us work,_ she realized. _Because I don't see him as his mask. I see him as _him_. And he can never, ever, allow himself to be anything more than the Batman._

"Alright," Gordon said. "Anything else you need from me?"

Andi shook herself out of her funk and gave Gordon a wicked smile under her mask. "You thought we were done? That's adorable. _He's_ going back to prep for the night—don't give me that look, yes you are—but I still need another two hours here. Want to help me tweeze up hair samples?"

Gordon groaned.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I just couldn't resist putting Andi back in the forensics arena one more time... apologies to any and all Trekkies reading this. (Oh, and don't worry, JP fans; he'll be back in the next one.)

In other news, my poor Spurs played with everything they had, but fell by two points in the very last game of the round. If any of you would like to comfort the heartbroken authoress, I accept sympathy cards (preferably with cash!) or reviews.


	14. Lines

**Chapter 14:** Lines

"You should have woken me up!"

Andi perked up from her contemplation of the coffee pot, wondering whether a third cup would do her any more good than the first two. JP wasn't talking to her, though. After a second of confused searching, she realized he wasn't even in the room, just speaking loudly enough to carry through the dining room door into the kitchen.

Bruce's reply was too low to hear, but JP's voice raised just a little more. "Bullshit. You just left the Manor to go investigate when—"

_Better defuse this before something ignites._ Putting on her best stern face, the one she'd used as a teacher with misbehaving students, Andi swept through the door and slammed it behind her to get their attention.

"If you're going to blame anyone, blame me, JP," she said. "It was my call. Gordon called me, and I took point for this part of the case. It was _my_ decision to leave you here at the Manor. Not his."

She could almost see him weaken, then straighten and decide he wasn't going to fold as easily as that.

"Really? Pennyworth told me that _he_—" JP jerked his head towards Bruce, "—followed you without warning. That your call?"

"He did. And I protested when he showed up, but when he said he could contribute, I let him. I could have told Gordon to kick him out. I could have called Alfred to take him home. But he's trained to collect evidence and you're not, and we need you rested and in peak physical condition right now, and not him. I decided to play to our strengths."

JP didn't say anything, but he still looked furious. Andi threw him a bone.

"Look, you didn't get to decide that for yourself, and I get how… how high handed that is—Bruce has done it to me a few times. I should have told you, and I'm sorry I didn't. But if I _had_ woken you up, if I _had_ told you what I'm telling you now, do you think you would have made the right call and stayed home while Bruce and I left?"

JP gave her a long, measuring look, that Andi returned with the most innocence she could muster. He had his contacts in, she noticed; the ones she used to spy on him. The guilt did nothing to make her feel better. Slowly, though, the fury drained from his face and posture.

"You still should have told me," he muttered, and the look on his face said he knew just how much he sounded like a sullen teenager.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. But I did what I had to do, JP."

He nodded.

"You say you're sorry?"

Andi let her irritation show. "For the third time…"

"Then don't cut me out again. Don't hide anything else. Deal?"

"Of course." Andi's voice was so level, so normal, _she_ barely realized she was lying. "You should probably get dressed if we're searching for Deadshot tonight."

"Alright. I'll be at the cave in thirty minutes."

Andi waited until he'd been gone for a full minute, then checked the camera on her phone. He really had walked away—she saw him pulling open the door of his room before she closed the camera again and looked up at Bruce.

"I don't want to lie to him."

"You do a good job of it, though."

"Not helping."

"I don't like it either," he said, glancing at the phone's blank screen. "But it's like you said about him making the wrong call. If something happens that puts him in sight of Deadshot, can you be sure that he won't do something foolish?"

"Are you sure we should stop him?" Andi shook her head as he opened his mouth. "No, I mean it. I won't kill Deadshot and you won't, but if anyone has the right to do it, it's JP. Maybe we should let him."

Bruce hesitated. "That's your call to make."

Andi jerked like she'd been given an electric shock. Panic she couldn't explain jolted down her spine. "No, it's not! I can't—Bruce, I can't do that. I can't choose whether or not to stand on the sides while my friend kills someone. Not after what happened with Leena and the—the Joker. I _can't."_

"Then don't. Stop him from doing it."

"But—"

"Listen. Andi listen, please. Azrael's the one in the suit, but I can't let him be the Batman. He's too much of a loose cannon, too unknown." Bruce's voice got deep, not scratchy like the Batman's, but very _very_ serious. "Andi, as far as I'm concerned, it's you under the mask, not him. It's you making the hard choices Batman has to make."

"Is this supposed to make me feel _better?_"

"If you felt good about this, I'd know I'd chosen the wrong person. The day this becomes easy is the day we need to retire. Andi?"

"What?"

"Why did you stay in Gotham?"

The question was so out of left field that Andi had to repeat it in her head to make sure she'd heard correctly. "What does that have to do—"

"Just answer the question."

"Fine. I've told JP _and_ Gordon _and_ you. It's the only way I can stay safe long term."

"And I'm the only one who knows that's not true. I could make you an alias so airtight not even Harley and Ivy could find you, whether they killed me or not. You really could escape, but you've chosen to stay and fight."

Something flickered in Bruce's eyes—an echo of the crushing responsibility Andi felt pressing down on her. He stood up, easing onto his crutches, so that he could look her in the eyes. "You can make it stop, Andi. Go live on a beach, drink mojitos, and never think of Gotham again. Or hand me back the cellphone and we'll make Valley stop what he's doing, find some other way to track down Deadshot.

"But you won't. We're the same you and I—we can't just walk away. We have to fight for what's ours. And you're panicking because you know that means we have to fight even harder to stay human."

He was limping out the door when Andi found her voice again.

"JP doesn't."

"I'm sorry?"

"He doesn't. He's on our side and he doesn't struggle or fight to—to stay decent. It's easy for him."

"I know." Bruce didn't turn around, but he'd gone still, his voice so grim Andi could almost see his expression. "And that's why I'm worried he won't stay that way."

* * *

"You're quiet."

"Yeah." Andi shoved her guilty thoughts away and gave JP a tired smile. "Long day. I'll be fine once I get some sleep."

"We could take the Tumbler through a Starbucks drive through if you want. Get you the biggest latté they have."

Andi snorted at the image despite herself.

"Nah," she said. "Starbucks is for sissies who like fluffy coffee. Batman would lose all his menace if he was seen there."

JP flashed her that brilliant grin. "Not seeing a problem."

"Well, did you bring cash?"

"I'm sure it's somewhere in this belt."

Andi barked a laugh. "Sorry, don't think you could get away with it. Batman doesn't mess with anything addictive, not even caffeine."

"Really? How does he manage his double life?"

"Ginger ale in his champagne glass."

"Should've known. But what's the point of disabling the autopilot if I can't use it to mess with him?"

"Let me practice driving this thing so I can provide back up? Finding Deadshot's bolt hole?"

"Nah, those are way too obvious. Clearly he also wanted us to do something more murky and mysterious. Like coffee."

"Yes, _clearly._ But just in case, let's find said bolt hole first, okay?"

"If you insist." JP pulled the Tumbler into a back alley. "This looks like a good spot. I'm going to go check it out, alright?"

"Sure." Andi stayed down while he slid the glass up and got out, just in case Deadshot was watching, then—trying to quash the guilt—pulled out her cellphone so she could follow him along. As usual around JP, the banter had almost made her forget why she was there, how messed up this whole thing was.

Bruce must have sensed her returning conflict, because he spoke up over the coms for the first time that night.

"What makes it a 'good spot?'"

"What?" JP grunted. His Batman voice was getting better.

"Tell me what you're seeing—why it makes you think Deadshot would go there. We can program the parameters into a search and narrow down options without you having to take the time to drive around."

"See? Could have gone to Starbucks."

"You know, it doesn't matter how good your disguise is and what your voice sounds like," Andi said. "If you're cracking jokes as Batman, no one's going to believe it."

"Batman can be funny when called for," Bruce said, sounding—of all things—as if she'd somehow injured his dignity. The camera's shot flicked around and up at the ceiling; 'Batman' was rolling his eyes.

"That depends on your definition of humor," Andi said. "What are you looking for, Azrael?"

"Probably a residential building, low occupancy, or an abandoned one. At least two exits on the ground, probably easy roof access. Close enough to other buildings that he could jump to another one if necessary. He prefers ones with windows and good sightlines, but would give those up if necessary. Especially if he has a police scanner to let him know when people are coming."

"Oracle?" Bruce asked. "Could he have that?"

"No idea," Andi said. "I'll try analyzing the crime scene photos, but I doubt they can give me that kind of information. If Deadshot was woozy from blood loss, though, he couldn't have been carrying too much hardware."

"Might have stashed his guns and other gear somewhere, then," Bruce said. "Keep an eye out for any obvious areas that could be, too."

"Already on it."

Another fifteen minutes, though, and JP had looked through all the empty rooms, coming up with nothing. He hesitated.

"It'd be easier to leave the Tumbler behind. I'll just jump to another roof."

"Go ahead," Andi said. "I might have it drive to get closer to you every now and then, though. I don't want your com—" _or camera_ "—going out of range."

"Try two blocks north," Bruce said. "I've got an apartment building condemned after it got flooded two years ago."

But that turned out to be a bust, as did the burned out former drug den, and the attics of three other apartments. They thought they had something at an old church's basement only for JP to have to make a run for it after he stumbled on a sleeping group of homeless men. One of them tried to string together an exorcism as 'Batman' leapt out the window.

"It's _not_ funny," JP said over Andi's laughter. "We're two hours from dawn, and this is our last chance to find him."

_That_ made Andi shut up. She heaved a sigh and looked at the clock. For all their efforts, they were no closer to finding Deadshot than they had been before, and the church had been the last place on Bruce's list.

"I could terrorize some of the gangs," JP finally suggested. "See if they know anything. If he's stolen painkillers, or—"

"No!" Andi yelped.

"Why the hell not?"

How to explain that she was worried about Azrael going dark side—or herself, in letting him? Luckily Bruce managed to cover for her before she had to.

"If word gets out that you're getting close, he'll bolt."

"He's already bolted," JP said. "Or will by the end of tonight. The police found his car, and Oracle's plan made sure he knows that we're still here. There's no way he isn't on the move. We have a tiny window to nab him, and if we don't, we're going to lose him for good. We have to get more aggressive."

He waited for either of them to reply. When they didn't, something seemed to click in his brain.

"I'm not going to kill or maim or something just to get information! I've interrogated before, I know where to draw the line. I'll rough him up a bit, scare him stiff, but that's it. No more than what the Batman normally does."

"Yeah?" Andi asked before she could stop herself. "And if we weren't here—if you were tracking him on your own—would you 'draw the line' then?"

"No," JP said. "No one notices a missing gang banger, everyone finds out when Batman questions someone. Like you said, word will get out what we're looking for, especially if we leave him alive. There's a slim chance Deadshot doesn't know we're coming, and I'd want to keep that intact. So, yeah, I'd kill him."

The worst of it, Andi thought, wasn't his words. It was the way he said them—light, easy, as if it was the reason he picked mustard over ketchup. She tried to speak, but before she could, JP's voice had turned brisk.

"Look, I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's true. And so is this. I won't kill him out of respect for y'all. You were the ones who said we were stronger as a team. So let's be a team."

"He's right," Bruce said. "Whatever his reasons, Oracle, he's not crossing any lines the Batman wouldn't. And we need to get this done."

He took a few seconds, and And could almost hear him struggling to phrase what he needed to say so that JP wouldn't catch on.

"Saying 'no violence, ever,' is an easy choice," he finally said. "It's simple and a clear, strong line. But the thing about Batman is—"

"It's not supposed to be easy." Andi muttered. And swinging the pendulum too far away from violence would be just as bad as letting it swing too far towards it. They had to find Deadshot, or he _would_ kill again.

But with beliefs like that floating in his brain, how long would it be until JP killed again, too? When push came to shove, would 'respect' be enough to keep him on the right side of the line?

"Alright, Azrael. Give it a try."

JP's eyes flicked around the dark streets. This late at night, the early morning dead hours, a good number of them had gone for the night, but from his vantage point, Andi could pick out a couple of candidates.

"Oracle. Listen," Bruce said, as JP swooped down from the building, skimming over several lower ones towards his mark. "He can't hear me right now. You have to watch him. Do you understand? You need to stop him if he goes too far, but you _can't_ stop him unless you really think he's going to kill."

Andi didn't reply—she couldn't, she didn't know if Azrael could hear _her_ or not, just that he couldn't hear Batman—but she felt her stomach tighten further than ever. Forcing herself to focus, she pulled the ring off the chain and into her hand, fingers hovering over the little shield emblem, ready to shock him.

For all their differences, JP and Bruce shared the same knack for dramatic entrances. He waited until he was flying almost right over his mark, then snapped the cloak so that he glided, straight down, landing almost right on top of the man's shoulders. He seized the grapple gun and used it to yank the both of them halfway up a building.

The guy wasn't a small man, but Azrael somehow hung from the grapple with one hand and used the other to bring his prey up to eye level by the scruff of the neck. He shook him like a dog with a chew toy.

"Aw, aw man, come on, I'm not even _doing_ anything tonight, I didn't hurt nobody or—"

Azrael dipped his arm, just a bit, and the man got the message; he shut up and stared. JP yanked him to within a couple inches of the mask. "Anyone steal from you?"

"What?"

"Morphine. Heroin. Cocaine. Anyone steal them?"

"What the—you on our side now?"

Azrael pressed a button on the gun and they flew up towards the top of the building. The second they landed on the roof, Azrael had the dealer's arm twisted behind his back, held over the edge with only Azrael's grip keeping him from falling. _"Who stole from you?"_

"No one! No one, man, I haven't had any trouble, I—"

Azrael twisted just a little harder and the man screeched worse than bad brakes on a car. "Alright, alright! Not me, but Tony, he got robbed five nights back. Some crazy dude got the drop on him, cleaned him out."

"Where is he?"

"The bosses didn't like him messing up—haven't seen him since."

"Describe the robber."

"Bloody, Tony said. Skinny and blood all over his shirt and face."

"More."

"Uh, uh—no, wait, I remember more! Said he was white, looked like he was maybe thirty. Head bandaged like a pirate or some shit like that. Said he didn't sound like he was from around here, you know? Spoke too fancy."

"Where was this?"

"Down that way at the corner store." The guy pointed with his free arm. "That's all I know, I swear, it's all I got—"

"Azrael," Andi said quietly. "This guy's bosses killed another man for getting robbed. If you turn him in or make him pull out of the life he's in, it's a death sentence. From what I can see of this guy's record, he's non-violent. He deserves a chance."

JP stayed quiet until the man's babbling faded.

"Mention this to anyone," he growled, "and I let you drop next time."

"No, no, I'm not gonna—"

"I'll be back in a few weeks. I want the names of the bosses, the suppliers, and who protects them."

"I don't got that kind of information, man, what do you—"

Azrael yanked him around, so that the two were face to face, the guy's eyes as round as coins as he stared into Andi's camera. "Find it."

He shoved the guy flat on his back and leaped from the roof, soaring towards the site of the robbery.

Only when he landed did Andi sigh and move her finger from where it hovered over the keypad.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Oh my poor, beautiful Spurs... they fought like heroes, but fall out of the playoffs they did. Come to think of it, that seems to happen when I post on FanFiction about them; maybe it's a divine sign to stop the sports talk?

Ah, whatever. Thanks so much to all of you who reviewed! And if you've been lurking or just got to the party, now's a great time to say hello; rotations are starting very soon for me, so you'll get a better response from me now rather than later.


	15. Hunt

**Chapter 15:** Hunt

They were only thirty minutes from dawn when JP paused, then sucked in a breath. "Jackpot."

"Huh? What?" Andi jerked from her doze, trying to check for drool and figure out where JP was and fumble for her ring all at the same time. JP paused.

"Were you napping?"

"Let's focus on the important things," Andi said as she managed to turn on the screen. "Tell me what you've got."

"Shipping warehouse on the docks. Abandoned by the looks of it; all the other ones on the row managed to burn down."

"I thought about that one," Bruce said. "Ruled it out because it didn't fit the profile you gave me. What makes you think he's there?"

"Been scanning everywhere close to where the dealer lost his stash. This one looks abandoned, but the space in front of all the doors has been cleared. Someone wants to keep escape routes open."

"Squatters, maybe?" Andi asked, even though she was now looking through JP's eyes and knew the answer. She recognized this place.

"Nah. Someone went to too much trouble to disguise what they were doing. Squatters wouldn't care."

"That doesn't—" Bruce started.

"No, Azrael's right," Andi said. "That's where Deadshot is."

"How can you tell?"

"One warehouse in a row of burned down ones? It's where the Joker took Leena two years ago and… turned her. That's why it doesn't fit Azrael's search criteria; it's a safehouse Harley and Ivy got him, not one he picked out."

Bruce and JP didn't say anything, and Andi was grateful. Remembering how that manhunt had ended… there were no words.

"Hang tight," she finally said, gripping the Tumbler's steering wheel—the thing could drive itself, but she needed something to do with her hands. "I'll be there in five minutes."

"No. You're good at a lot things, Oracle, but fighting isn't one of them. You'd be a liability. I've got this."

"I'm driving a tank. You made me drill with driving this thing ever since…"

But a glance down at her phone's screen said JP was already swooping down. Andi sighed, maneuvered the Tumbler as close as she dared, then let it idle and watched.

JP had adjusted to the wings fast; he soared through an upper window feet first, and dropped his wings at the last second to go through without so much as brushing the broken glass still stuck in the frame. He snapped them back in place as soon as he was through, landing three stories below with a faint _thud_, and immediately rolling to one side to avoid possible gunfire. If Andi hadn't been spying on him, she would have applauded.

No shots rang out, though, and the sound of JP breathing was all that she heard. He tapped the side of the mask for night vision.

"Not here. Just a couple rats."

"I'll turn on the lights," Bruce said.

"You can do that?"

"Hooked up to the city's mainframe. Can get you light, utilities, heat…"

"Lights. But keep them dim."

They came on after a few seconds, the ones at the front first, marching farther and farther back in a line. Andi stayed quiet as JP's eyes took in the old bloodstains, remembering the bodies those had formed under. Then she remembered that she wasn't supposed to be seeing this, and that, if she really was blind, she wouldn't just stay quiet.

"Tell me what you see."

"He was here," JP said, moving toward the front, right corner of the building, where a mattress and discarded clothes lay. "Cleared out, by the looks of things."

"Describe it."

He sighed, but obeyed. "It's an old warehouse, built before electricity was around; there are old windows everywhere to let in light. The lower ones are bricked up, though."

"Yeah, I've been there before. I wanted more on what's inside."

"Dried bloodstains everywhere. No sign of squatters. Guess the place got a reputation after the Joker came. But the corner closest to the door's got a mattress, two empty flats of water bottles, a box of dried foods, medical supplies, and a couple other empty crates. Probably held weapons."

JP stared at the abandoned supplies for a few more seconds, then spun on his heel, his other leg coming up to kick straight into the wall. Bits of soft plaster broke off and fell. "God _damn_ it! We had him."

"Alright, _now_ I'm coming in to check it out."

"No you aren't," JP snapped. "Tonight's the last chance of finding him before he goes to ground again. If we spend hours looking here, we lose him."

"We already did. If we leave without looking for evidence, you'll not only lose him, but any chance of finding him again."

"This isn't a movie where some dumb criminal leaves the places he's going circled on a map, Oracle! Looking at this place won't tell us where he's going next."

"No, but it does—"

"Quiet," Bruce said. "Both of you. Now."

Andi broke off her argument and forced herself to breathe. "What's wrong?"

"I'm looking at the energy and utilities. Huge amounts of natural gas are being pumped into the building."

It took Andi a second to get it, and by the time she had, JP had already turned around and run. The huge roll-up doors would be faster, she knew, but—metal on metal. And right then, a spark would be deadly.

"Do you smell anything?"

"Can't." He made it to just below the window he'd come in by and shot off the grapple gun. Two seconds later, he was in the window sill, shooting it toward the corner of another building. "Doesn't mean anything though. Got exposed to a chemical in Kuwait that—"

The building exploded.

JP had already jumped, and Andi watched through his eyes as he shot forward, holding onto the grapple for dear life. He spun crazily, knocked into the wall of another building, and next thing she knew, he was half falling-half gliding three stories down. He hit the ground with a bone crunching thud.

"Come on, come on Azrael, talk to me." No response, but he did slowly pick himself up from the ground. "Azrael!"

"Oracle?" His voice was too loud; he was almost shouting in her ear. "I think my hearing's shot."

"No kidding," Andi muttered. She turned up her own microphone and lowered his. "Alright, I'm coming."

JP didn't answer, whether because he didn't hear or because he was busy trying to test his arms and legs she didn't know. When Andi pulled up, he limped over and climbed in.

"Status, Azrael?" Bruce asked.

"Sprained ankle," JP said. He noticed Andi's hushing motions, and lowered his voice. "Probably some bruised ribs. I'm good."

All three of them were silent for a few seconds; Andi tried to catch her breath and watched the flames eating away at the warehouse.

"Deadshot knew we were coming," she finally said. "How?"

"Records show the gas began pumping in two hours ago," Bruce said.

Andi looked over at JP. He had sat up straight, his eyes burning. "Wasn't that about when—"

"We talked to the dealer."

Andi threw the car in gear and started to drive before reality caught up with her. "That would be all kinds of helpful if we actually knew where he is."

"I stabbed a tracker into him. Here." JP pressed a couple buttons on the console and a map with a white dot pulled up, about five minutes away. "Intersection of Shoreline and Robinson."

Andi rounded on him.

"_Stabbed?"_

"It needs to stay on him, not his clothes. Thin needle into the back of his arm, releases an anesthetic so he doesn't know it's there."

"Do you realize how incredibly dangerous that—"

"It's your boyfriend's invention not mine. Just _drive."_

"Right." Andi felt her face get hot and drove towards the coordinates JP had pointed out. He was tense, practically vibrating as they got closer, and as soon as they were within a block, he opened the hatch and sprang out. "You sure you're ok to—"

He either didn't hear or ignored her. Andi sighed and followed him, a bit more slowly, to the intersection.

"Is he there?" Bruce asked.

"According to the GPS, Azrael's right on top of him. But I don't see anyo—"

At that moment, JP grunted and bent down, stooping over something right in the middle of the intersection. When he straightened, he was pinching something between his fingers.

"Found the needle. No sign of anyone else."

Andi hesitated. "Could it have… I don't know, fallen out on its own, maybe?"

"No." Bruce said. "It's barbed to stay anchored in. Deadshot must have found it."

"How?" JP rasped. "It's barely visible if you're looking for it. How the hell did he know it was there?"

But Andi's mind had jumped in another direction. Deadshot had removed it. And he hadn't disabled it or dropped it into the bay or thrown it away, he'd gone and placed it right in the middle of the street. Which meant…

"_Trap!_"

JP threw himself to the side the second she spoke, rolled and started to run for cover. Deadshot must have realized the game was up because he started firing, bullets hitting the ground like hail, and JP wouldn't make it to the end of the street—

"Get _down!"_ Andi yelled, hitting the gas.

JP heard and dropped flat. The Tumbler rolled over him, JP positioned right between its wheels, the undercarriage clearing his head by half an inch. Andi punched in the command sequence on the console, and a smokescreen emerged, covering the street like fog. Bullets pounded the Tumbler for a few more seconds, then stopped.

She gripped the wheel, breathing hard.

"Azrael? Azrael, come on, talk to me."

No response.

"Azrael, _come on_, tell me you're ok, that you haven't—"

"Oracle, what happened?" Bruce asked.

"I set off a smoke bomb and parked the Tumbler over Azrael," Andi said. "I—I think I just used up all nine of our extra lives, but I'm alright. But Azrael's not… he's not answering, and I can't get out to—"

"His com's off."

"Oh God." Andi felt acid burning in the back of her throat, tried not to imagine JP's head smashed under the tires. "I didn't think I hit him. We've—we've practiced that move before, and I had to move, but I didn't—"

"No, you didn't. It's _off_, not broken. He turned it off."

Which meant he was alive. And thinking. Andi gulped down a breath and forced it out again.

"Why? Why would he turn it off?"

"What do you see?"

"Nothing, it's still all smoke and…" Her mind caught up with what Bruce was asking. She grabbed her phone and pressed the stone on her ring.

"What have you got?"

"Walking—no, running," Andi said, her nose almost touching the screen. "Along a rooftop. I'm not getting any sound without the com, it's hard to tell—I think he's going along the west alley. He's looking around the other buildings, paying more attention to the roofs and windows…"

"Looking for Deadshot."

"I think so."

"Can you see Lawton?"

"No, and if he's not shooting, he might already have made a break for—no, there! I see Deadshot, he's on a roof, turning to face Azrael. Face is all bandaged on one side. Azrael's leaping at him from above and he's—he's…"

"What? Oracle, what?"

_How did JP get my gun?_

Andi had no idea, all she knew was that JP fired as he fell, somehow shooting and flying at the same time. Deadshot dropped to a crouch, Andi had a split second glimpse of bloodstained bandages covering one eye, and then he snapped his arm up and fired his wrist gun.

JP pivoted in midair, dropping the revolver and just missed the burst of gunfire. It threw off his glide, and he spun to the side of the building, only just getting a hand up in time to catch the edge of the roof. He hung by one hand, legs swinging below him.

"You moron!" Andi shrieked, forgetting he couldn't hear—that she wasn't even supposed to see this. "You're a sitting duck, just drop and get away before he—"

He didn't; she should have known. Too obsessed to play it smart. She saw his hand clench, then the other one swung up to join it and he somehow vaulted up and over the edge. The camera shot spun in a circle—

A hand pushed straight into JP's chest as he landed, and the next thing Andi saw was a sky shot as he fell backwards. He fell slower than he should, the wings slowing him down, but they weren't meant to bend that way, couldn't be controlled…

The screen went black.

"Oracle, _talk to me_."

Bruce. From the sound of it, he'd been trying to get an answer out of her for awhile now. Andi forced herself to breathe. "Deadshot saw him coming," she managed. "He dodged the bullets but—Deadshot just pushed him, made JP freefall six stories. He—"

The screen lit up again and JP threw himself to the side just as bullets cracked against the ground. He dove into a corner between a wall and overflowing dumpster, at just the wrong angle for the bullets to reach.

"What now?"

"Deadshot's firing at him. Azrael has cover, but it's not enough to keep him safe for long. I'm going after him."

"Oracle—"

"He wants Batman dead, not me." Andi turned off her cellphone and started flicking on all the lights she could find.

"And if he wants Azrael dead, he's already dead."

"Not from what the camera says. Look, I'm in the Tumbler, it'd take a landmine to get to me. Deadshot just wants to escape and at this point, so do we. If I come in, guns blazing, make as much noise as I can, he'll run. I hope." She gave up on the mess of buttons and grabbed the steering wheel instead. "You mind getting me some more dramatics?"

There was a hesitation, and she could almost see Bruce's finger hovering over the controls, bringing her home instead of out to get JP. Then he growled something, beams like floodlights shot out from the front, and he worked the throttle until the Tumbler _roared._

"Move!" he ordered, and Andi did. She hit sixty in three seconds and clipped the corner off a building as she took a sharp turn that almost spun her out of control. She stopped in front of where JP was huddled, but before she could open the door for him, he leaped out, landed flat across the Tumbler's engine.

"GO!" JP bellowed, his com suddenly back on, and Andi drove, speeding down the alley, twisting down random roads and across bridges until they were back in the streetlights. Breathing hard, grateful JP had somehow hung on, she killed the engine and collapsed, shaking, across the dashboard.


	16. Regroup

**Chapter 16:** Regroup

The Tumbler was quiet. Dawn should be starting right now, but between Gotham's smog and the skyscrapers all around them, Andi couldn't see it. She glanced at JP and cleared her throat.

"Are you injured?"

JP glowered at the street they were driving past and didn't answer.

"Look, we lost him. And I hate admitting it as much as you. But right now, I want to make sure we don't lose you, too. Are you injured?"

"No."

"Are you sure? The adrenaline rush—you could be bleeding internally and not even know—"

"I said no!" JP barked. "Stop trying to control everything and act like a God damn human being, Taylor!"

Andi opened her mouth to snap back, then stopped herself. No. Getting angry would only provoke things further—someone had to act like an adult here, and it clearly wasn't going to be JP.

They lapsed back into grim silence.

Andi got JP's reaction. She did. He was frustrated, lashing out and angry, and she almost wished she could be that way. Better that than the wooden, mechanical state she was in. Exhausted, yet unable to stop running over everything they'd done that night, like a video on a loop. One critically injured man, pinned down, outgunned and outmatched, and they'd lost him.

_How did we screw up so badly?_

JP had almost had him. And somehow Deadshot had stayed one step ahead. Anticipated what they would do every time.

The Tumbler finally pulled in to the cave, and Bruce limped up to them. He'd left his crutches behind, walking gingerly on his injured leg instead, but Andi didn't have the heart to scold him. Didn't even have the energy to get out of her seat.

Bruce gave her a worried look, but as soon as JP was out of the Tumbler, he focused on him instead.

"That was uncalled for."

"Really, Wayne? Everything blows to shit, and you go all white knight because I hurt Taylor's feelings?"

JP made to brush past him, but Bruce caught him by the shoulder. "She's the reason you made it out alive."

"You're _both_ the reason I was in danger!" JP roared. His words echoed weirdly in the cave, making him hard to understand. "Treating this like it's a game, thinking you can win without getting your hands dirty—if we'd killed the drug dealer in the first place, none of this would have happened!"

"We're doing this _now?_" Andi groaned. But neither of them listened. Bruce was shouting now—she didn't think she'd ever heard him lose control like this before.

"—the one who turned off your com! She could have given backup, covered your ass, if you hadn't cut—"

"Grow up!" Andi shouted. "Both of you!"

Neither of them listened and Andi's exhausted emotions somehow found a way to flare again. Finally unbuckling her seatbelt, she scrambled into the driver's seat and found the Tumbler's horn. It let out a blast as loud as an eighteen-wheeler's, drowning out every other sound.

She let the ringing silence echo in their ears for a second.

"What is this helping?" she said. "You think Deadshot wants us to work together or fight each other? If he could see us right now, he'd be happier than ever."

Neither of them said anything, and Andi pinched the bridge of her nose. On top of everything else, the noise had pushed her over the edge, into a splitting headache.

"Look, you want me to act like a human being, JP? Fine. I can't do this right now. So can we _please_ just leave this until we've all gotten some sleep? Nothing's going to change in six hours."

Neither of them said anything, but when Andi looked at them, even JP's expression had softened a bit—she thought so, at least, it was hard to tell in the mask.

"Fine," he said, and left the cave without another word.

Once he was gone, Bruce stepped forward as if to help her, but Andi clambered out of the Tumbler before he could. She gave his leg a pointed look.

"If you're going to walk on it, at least let me get you some kind of brace. Or better yet, have Fox make one for you."

"I start training tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Don't you think that's a little soon?"

"The sooner I recover, the sooner Valley is gone."

Andi frowned. "I didn't realize we were kicking him out."

"Andi, he's a loose cannon. You saw him; he abandoned all strategy when things got tough, let his temper get the best of him. This can't be about revenge. It won't be long before he tries to kill someone."

_Won't be long?_ She'd told Bruce about the revolver, hadn't she? Andi closed her eyes, trying to remember her exact words.

_ "Deadshot saw him coming," _she'd said._ "He dodged the bullets, but…"_

'He.' Bruce had assumed she'd meant that _JP_ was dodging bullets, not Deadshot.

Pronouns. Lovely. And now, if she filled Bruce in, he wouldn't wait until JP was better—he'd kick him out here and now.

"I know we have to use him while I'm out of the game," Bruce said, misunderstanding her pause. "But once I'm back—he's too dangerous to have around. You'll be able to go back to the cave too, so we won't get a repeat of tonight."

Andi glared, the confusion over the gun forgotten. "I see. And what's next, put me in bubble wrap so I won't skin my knees?"

"Andi—"

"What?!" Oh. There was her temper. Bruce frowned at her.

"What's your problem?"

"Look, you want JP gone? Fine, make it happen. But don't assume I'm just going to go along with whatever you say, and don't you _dare_ pick a fight with him over me. I'm not going to be a pawn for your agenda."

"I wasn't trying to manipulate him to leave. He acted badly and I called him on it."

"Then that's worse! You aren't my family or my protector. I'm not even sure you're my friend. So don't say you won't be there for me, then act like you have any right to—to speak for me, or defend me as if I can't fight my own battles."

"_That's_ why you're mad? He puts both your lives in danger and—"

"Yeah he did. But tearing into each other because you want to _protect_ me? After everything you both have put me through? You've got no right—"

"I thought you were _dead!"_

That brought Andi up short. Her mouth worked, trying to get a word out past her flabbergasted mind.

"What?"

"Deadshot started firing at the intersection, and you didn't answer and neither did Valley—I had no way of knowing who he was aiming for. I thought…"

Andi stared at him blankly. "But you don't care about me," she said. "That's what you—so many times, you've told me I don't—that I'm not—"

She gave up. There was a raw, haunted look in Bruce's eyes that told her he cared more than he'd ever said. More than she'd ever hoped.

"I tried not to."

Somehow Andi had taken several steps closer to him without noticing.

"It's alright," she said. "I promise you, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He reached for her, and Andi let him. His hand brushed across her cheek, cupped her chin. He drew her close, as gentle as if she was made of spun glass, not body armor, dirt, and sweat.

Their kiss, when it came, was soft and tender.

The only sound was the waterfall, and even that seemed quieter for some reason. Andi wanted to lean against him, but was too careful of his injured leg to try it. She looked at his face instead, and realized she'd never seen him so… gentle.

His hands were shaking, she realized. For that matter, so were hers.

"This doesn't change anything, does it?" she whispered after a minute. Despite her words, her arm snaked up behind him and held him close. "You can't—our priorities still can't change. We have to hunt down Deadshot, and that means both of us are going to risk the other's life."

The look Bruce gave her was full of unspoken emotion. For a second, she was almost convinced he would say 'no.'

"It's alright," she said, before he could shatter the illusion. "I understand. I really do. And you know what? I'm glad. Even though it doesn't change things—I just—knowing that you care—that I'm loved, even if you can't show it—"

She kissed him one last time. "That's enough, I think."

Andi broke away and headed for the Manor, somehow forcing herself not to look back. She already knew that, the next time they saw each other, they would pretend it had never happened.

* * *

Andi sat slumped in her chair, pen dangling loose in her fingers and her headphones slipping over her ears.

Despite what had happened last night—or that morning, really—with Bruce, the situation was desperate. Her grand plan to get Deadshot lay in tatters, JP and Bruce were on the verge of blows, and it didn't much matter because, no matter how she looked at it, there were no moves left to make. Just a big mess, a lot of blame and shouting, sore muscles, and itchy, tired eyes…

Andi realized she'd been drifting off, paused the tape she was listening to, and straightened her spine again. She'd only caught a few hours of sleep before getting up early that afternoon, before everyone except Alfred, and coming down to the cave. Bruce had kept all their radio communications recorded down here, and she was trying to piece together a timeline, make some sense of what exactly Deadshot had done. So far, she had a big, fat nothing.

Her phone buzzed. Andi sighed, swiped it from the desk and put it to her ear.

"I'm still alive, Gordon. Somehow."

"That's always good to hear, Miss Taylor, but I think you should update your caller ID." The warm voice was unmistakable. Andi sat up.

"Mr. Fox?"

"Nice to speak to you again."

"You too. Is, uh," Andi scrubbed at her face with one hand, trying to pretend she hadn't been having a pity party. "Are you calling about that knee brace for Bruce?"

"He needs a brace?"

"Never mind. Why did you call?"

"You remember those old friends of yours you wanted me to track down?"

"Wait—you actually found them?"

"I'm not quite that talented, Ms. Taylor; these things take time. But I had a bit of a revelation this morning."

"Oh really?"

"I assume by the fact that Mr. Wayne missed this morning's press conference that he had another late night?"

"Good assumption."

"And would this late night have anything to do with the burning of an abandoned warehouse at about 5:30 AM?"

"Um. Possibly? We, um…" Andi tried to come up with a lie, but her fried brain couldn't think of anything, no matter how implausible.

"We what?"

Andi spun around to see Bruce walking towards her—a little gingerly, but still without his crutches. She bit her lip and tried to think of something witty and off-the-cuff to say, but he just nodded toward the phone. "Put it on speaker?"

Andi did, and turned up the volume so that they could hear Fox over the waterfall.

"Mr. Wayne?" Fox asked. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm healing." Bruce took a seat on the edge of the desk. "Surprised my CEO now calls Taylor first with news. Although, knowing her, I shouldn't be."

"I think it may be her project."

Bruce glanced at her. Andi shrugged.

"How is a warehouse fire my project?"

"You remember the people you asked me to search for a couple weeks ago?"

To be honest, Andi had forgotten she'd asked him to look for Harley and Ivy. It had been a throwaway request, a long shot that she'd used to get an appointment with Fox. Sounded like he'd followed up with it more than she'd hoped.

"Did you find something?" she asked, trying to contain the hope rising in her chest.

"Not yet. I included your search parameters, but it's not quite enough information. But if the people who lit the warehouse fire last night are the same ones you're looking for, Ms. Taylor, I can combine that information with what you know to help track down your… friends. Or at least their finances."

Bruce had already sat up and was scribbling notes on a sheet of paper. Well, he was welcome to it—this was one type of tracking where Andi was happy to let other people take the lead. She did have an idea for what they should look for, though.

"Can you do me a favor, Fox?" she asked. "Prioritize getting information on any other property they rented or bought in Gotham. Just—anything, I don't care what."

Bruce was watching her with his brow furrowed. "What are you thinking, Andi?"

"Deadshot needs another safehouse, right? What if they bought that for him too?"

"Would he be stupid enough to go there?"

"It can't hurt to check," she said. "Not with the shortage of other leads. If you can do it, that is, Fox?"

"It will take me about a week or so, but it should be possible," he said. Andi grimaced but didn't protest—he knew how important this was. If he said he needed a week, he needed a week. "Was there anything else you needed?"

"I think we're good," Bruce said.

"Ms. Taylor? You mentioned a brace."

Andi glanced at Bruce, who shook his head warningly. "What? You're going to need one if you want to fight on that leg, that's just the facts."

He didn't look appeased—stupid machismo probably had him convinced he didn't need sissy things like limbs to function—so Andi sighed and turned back to the phone. "I'll call you about that later, Mr. Fox. Thanks so much for your help; you don't know how much we needed the news."

"My pleasure. I'll see you at the rescheduled press conference tomorrow, Mr. Wayne—if you manage not to sleep through this one."

He hung up and Andi turned to Bruce.

"There's no way you're going to be ready in a week."

"I might—"

"Might be good enough to be back on the streets, yes. Especially if you let me get you that brace. But you're not going to be on the top of your game, and you know it."

He frowned at her, but didn't protest. "Do you see any other option?"

"Yeah. But neither of you is going to like it."

* * *

"Can I come in or are you going to yell at me again?"

JP grimaced and held the door to his suite open wider. Andi stepped inside and glanced around the room. He'd definitely made himself at home—his knives and the suit were arranged neatly, but the rest of the sitting room's furniture, not to mention the costly antiques and pictures, had been shoved in the corner like so much rubbish. All that was left was a no-nonsense chair and desk set, piled high with apples, and an ornate golden bowl that it looked like he was using to spit chewing tobacco.

Andi turned to him. "So. How are the injuries doing? Or am I still not allowed to help you?"

JP didn't apologize, but he had the grace to look abashed. Instead of answering, he pulled his shirt over his head, showing a livid bruise that covered half his ribcage. Andi hissed between her teeth.

"You got shot? Or was this from falling off a building?"

"Both? Neither?" JP said. "The adrenaline was going so fast that I didn't notice until later."

Andi—very maturely, she thought—kept herself from pointing out that this was exactly what she'd been worried about last night. "I can scan it it if you want," she offered. "Make sure it didn't start anything bleeding inside there. Although if nothing's gone wrong yet, my guess is you're alright." She reached out, her hands hovering inches from his skin. "May I?"

He nodded, so she palpated as gently as she could, making a mental note to grab some ice for him once she was done.

"This isn't awkward for you at all, is it?" JP asked. "You're feeling a guy's bare chest in his room, and you just don't care."

"It's a sitting room," Andi said absently, pulling out the stethoscope she'd borrowed from Alfred. "Can you take a deep breath? Through the mouth, please."

He smirked. "Don't you have to cut clothes off people for trauma assessment like Wayne's a few weeks ago? You such a professional then, too?"

Andi swatted him on the bruise and heard him grunt through the stethoscope. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

"You're blushing."

"My skin's too dark to blush. Deep breath."

He obeyed, and Andi almost sighed in relief; she did _not_ want the events of that morning to be spread around. And she had more important things to focus on right now anyway.

"By the way," she said as she moved to listening to his heart, "I know you had a gun last night."

She still had her stethoscope over his chest; she literally heard his heart beat faster. He didn't say anything, and she didn't look up.

"How?"

"Guesswork, mostly," Andi lied. "The only reason you could have had for turning your com off was that there was something you didn't want us to hear. There was a long list of possibilities, but you firing a gun was one of them. And that's when I realized that my revolver has been missing for a couple of weeks now."

JP whistled but didn't seem suspicious of her explanation; Andi supposed she'd built up a reputation by now of being all-knowing.

"Did you shoot at Deadshot?" she asked.

"No. I wanted to—almost did—but I would have had to glide and shoot at the same time, and that's too much for me. He fired on me in mid-air, I never had the chance to land." He watched Andi as she coiled her stethoscope. "Am I all clear?"

"As far as I can tell. I still want to do a scan for abdominal bleeding, though."

He nodded. "Does Wayne know about the gun?"

"No."

"Are you going to tell him?"

Andi hesitated.

She should kick him out. Not only had he tried to kill, he was lying to her and Bruce about it, even when she confronted him. Andi liked JP, counted him as one of the only friends she had, but she couldn't trust him and she knew it.

But what choice did she have? She needed him if they were going to have any chance of getting Deadshot. And she knew that, brutal though his methods were, he still wanted to stop Deadshot. He had a moral code, even if it wasn't one she always agreed with. She could work with that. She had to.

"No. You need to stay here, and if Bruce finds out, he won't agree."

JP nodded again, and Andi wasn't sure if his expression was relieved or disappointed. "Seems kind of pointless. We've lost Deadshot."

"I'm not giving up the chase yet. He's still injured. I think we've got a little more time to find him before he starts anything. And we've got a lead on where he's gone."

"Always have a plan, don't you?"

"And another behind that, and one more behind that. It's how I survive."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Tonight?" Andi asked. "You take the night off to rest up. I'm going to go meet with Gordon, see if we can get anything from the police investigations."

"_That's_ your plan? The police?"

"No, that's the delaying tactic I'm using until Bruce finishes healing and—hopefully—our lead comes through. The way Bruce's going, he might be out on the streets in a week if we're lucky."

JP snorted. "And what? How is _he_ going to help? All I've seen so far is him get shot and bankrolling us. Even if he _is_ worth working with, he's not going to be anywhere near full strength."

Andi gave him a grim smile—exactly what she'd hoped he'd ask.

"He doesn't have to be. I figure out where Deadshot is, Bruce goes there as Batman and gets Deadshot's attention. And you use the distraction to take him down."

JP squinted at her. "That means I have to keep working with Wayne, doesn't it?"

"If I can put up with _you_, you can put up with him."

He laughed, but it came out oddly hollow. "You get the feeling we're held together by spit and prayers right now? And I say that as a committed atheist."

Andi's answering laugh felt just as empty. _We're lying to Bruce about the gun, I'm lying to JP about the cameras, he lied about shooting at Deadshot. I'm sure Bruce is lying to me about something, too, and I have no idea what._

"Well then," she said, glancing at the golden bowl filled with chewed tobacco. "You better get spitting."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! Hope your spring is closing out well! Just a general note that I've just started a physical medicine and rehab elective, and I'm heading into the dreaded third year after that; I'll definitely give y'all a heads-up if I need to slow down the posting rate, but responses and the like might be a bit slower.

(As an aside, if any of y'all are interested in getting into medicine or just want some facts checked for a fic, drop me a line. A couple of writers/medical folk were a huge inspiration and help when I was trying to get into med school, and I'd love to pass that on.)


	17. Implode

**Chapter 17:** Implode

Andi had seen her fair share of gyms. Most of her aliases had enjoyed working out, and 'Alexa' had even trained for a couple of half-marathons. But there had never been one quite like Wayne Manor's strange mix between palace and gym. The indoor Olympic swimming pool matched the cool marble interior well enough, but the obstacle course looked like it had been yanked from a military training camp, and the treadmills, boxing bags, and gymnastics equipment were as out of place as a horror movie in a pile of Disney princess films.

The weirdest thing, though, was the silence. Gyms were supposed to be alive with jaunty music and clacking machines, but the only sound she could hear was the whisper of bare feet and an odd thrum that echoed off the walls.

"Bruce?" she called.

He was at the boxing ring, practicing with a staff of all things. He didn't react when she approached, his hands spinning the staff so fast it hummed. His legs were moving too, flowing from stance to stance as if he faced multiple opponents. He went for a kick with his bad leg, only for the smooth rhythm to stutter, the staff _almost_ coming out of control, his leg stumbling forward. Rather than pause or show any frustration, his other leg came forward to compensate, and his staff moved all the faster; watching him, Andi almost believed the mistake was intentional.

"Bruce!" she said, louder.

He snapped the staff to the side, the movement ending all at once. Andi whistled and gave him a smile that was just shy of flirty. "I don't know how many Wheaties you've eaten this week, but they're working."

"Not well enough," Bruce said, putting the staff away and gulping from a water bottle. "You saw the leg. I'm sloppy, and I can't afford to be."

"I keep telling you, you need a brace." Andi followed him to the gymnastics rings and paused as he mounted. "Um, are you—"

"Keep talking."

"Look, I get why you don't want one. Batman needs to be superhuman in his opponents' minds, and that means you can't admit, even to yourself, that you're mortal."

"That's not the problem." Bruce did a flip that would have made any Olympian proud, voice straining just a little. "I know I'll die on this job, probably soon. I know my mortality better than anyone."

"Then why not—"

Bruce slowly extended his arms out, legs stretched behind him, so that he looked like he was flying. "I can fight without the suit or the Tumbler because I learned without them first. I'll get a brace eventually, but right now I need to know how to fight without one, so that when it cuts out—and it will, sooner or later—I can handle it."

Andi threw her hands in the air. "Well, you better learn that lesson fast, then, because Fox just called."

"_What?"_ Bruce flipped off and nailed the landing on his one good leg. "You didn't lead with that?"

"I wanted to make sure you were fit to go first," Andi shrugged. "And it's three hours until sunset; I figured two minutes wouldn't make much of a difference."

"What has he got?"

"He tracked their bank accounts to a renovation company working on a half-gutted building. Should have known; the company's called 'Green Smiles.' Sounds like a really terrible dentist."

"Sounds like Harley and Ivy." Bruce grabbed his water bottle and a towel, then left the gym. Injury or no injury, he still moved fast enough that Andi had to trot to keep up. "We need to do this right this time. Get satellite imagery—"

"Already in progress."

"Blueprints of the building?"

"Pulled up on your computer."

"Specs of the surrounding area?"

"Alfred's assembling a 3D map with a quarter mile radius."

Bruce paused. "The Tumbler filled up on gas?"

"Got it cover—wait, what?"

He grinned. "Remind me to hire you as my CEO if Fox ever retires."

"CEO?" Andi gave him a sly look as they got in the elevator. "But why be a billionaire when you could spend your life in hiding, sleep deprived, obsessed over crime, and a hair away from capture?"

"Subtle. Real subtle, there."

They got to the cave and found JP already pacing around while Alfred set up the computers. The light-hearted mood vanished.

"Finally," JP muttered. "Is he clear for action, Andi?"

"Yeah, I watched him fight. He's not up to full mobility yet, but he knows how to work around it. He's more valuable than a liability."

Bruce glanced between both of them. "'Clear for action?' What exactly were you going to do if I _wasn't_, Andi? Stick me full of morphine?"

"Of course not," Andi said. "You know to watch me for that. Alfred agreed to put a sedative in your drink."

"I saw no need to mention that, Miss Andi," Alfred said, bringing over a tray of said drinks. "Now I can't do that later if necessary."

Bruce glanced at the glass he'd been handed, back at Alfred, and set it back on the tray. "Nice to know where your loyalties lie."

"On protecting you, sir. First and foremost."

Bruce looked like he was going to protest, but something on Alfred's face stopped him and he just nodded. Andi fought down a twinge of jealousy—that Alfred could declare unwavering loyalty and have it accepted. Not that she wanted to, not that she had that kind of devotion in her. But even if she did, he wouldn't take it, and it hurt to realize that.

"We're wasting time," JP growled, and Andi shook herself.

"Right. What have you got on the location?" She headed over to JP's side, looking down at the tabletop displaying the map of the building.

"It's close," JP said. He twiddled with the controls of the map so that they were looking at a bird's eye view of Gotham, then glanced at the coffee Alfred handed him. He gave the butler, Bruce, and even Andi, a suspicious look, and set it to the side instead.

"Less than a quarter mile away," Bruce said, ignoring JP's suspicion. "Valley and I could take him out while you stayed here, An—"

"Not a chance," Andi snapped. She'd only convinced Bruce to let her come anywhere close because she could monitor JP from her cellphone if she was in range of his eye-cam. With the action happening so near Wayne Manor, that didn't matter—but Bruce couldn't just come out and say that around JP.

"We need to stick to the plan," she said instead. "We're only three hours from jump time; changing things around isn't an option. I promise I'll stay in the Tumbler unless things go drastically wrong, but I'm not backing out now."

"She's right," JP said. "We need her for backup as much as communications, Wayne. And look at this layout; he's going to be holed up good and tight in there. We need to plan the assault, not argue."

Andi raised her coffee to take a sip, then lowered it before it touched her mouth. She'd almost taken Bruce out of the action by slipping him something, and now he wanted her to take the day off—and she knew he wasn't afraid of drastic measures.

Looked like none of them trusted each other.

Andi shook her head and tried not to think about that—about the feeling that, for all their planning, the three of them were about to implode. They had to move forward.

"We already knew Deadshot would protect himself," Andi reminded JP. "The question is, how is he going to do it? Got any ideas?"

* * *

"Azrael checking in."

"Batman."

Pause.

"You there?"

Andi sighed. Even after two weeks of using codes, she still felt like a bad actor in the middle of an action movie. "Oracle, checking in."

Thankfully, neither of them snickered. Instead Azrael said, "Frequency rounds are placed on the windows. I've got a line of sight on the building, but no sign of him."

"His heat signature's staying put, but you're blocked by a couple walls" Andi said, glancing between the satellite imagery, layouts of the building, and JP's GPS location. "Move two hundred feet to the southeast. You won't see him, but if he moves more than a foot your way, you'll know."

"Two hundred feet puts me in the middle of a building."

"What, your worried about B &amp; E charges _now?"_

"They'll have security. I can't afford to trip an alarm."

"Come on, did you really think I hadn't planned for that? Todd"—'Todd' was Fox. _He_ got a normal name, lucky man—"already disabled the security systems for two blocks, with just you in mind."

"Just me, huh?"

"Yeah, he said it was foolproof."

Azrael muttered something about her and 'smartass' that Andi probably wasn't supposed to hear, and then his GPS mark slowly moved in the right direction. Andi took the opportunity to pull up her camera and watch his movements—his eyes were focused on the window, already broken open by a small explosive.

"Alright," he breathed a minute later. "I'm in position."

"Batman?"

"Ready."

Andi had forgotten how little he spoke when he was in the suit. She double-checked all the screens again, making sure everything was in place, then swallowed and tapped a button that added Gordon to their conversation. "Alright Copper, we're set."

"Roger that."

Andi sighed, wondering if it was a guy thing to talk like that over the radio. She didn't have long to think about it, though, because a burst of sirens wailed from four different streets, and a half dozen police cars converged on Deadshot's hideout.

It was the most dangerous part of the plan. They were counting on Deadshot seeing the bait for what it was: a distraction. If they were right, he'd stay put, tighten up security and watch the sky for Batman. But if they were wrong, if he did decide to fight, there were a dozen officers down there with their lives on the line.

But the heat signature didn't move, and JP's camera didn't show any sign of him. He was doing what they wanted, watching for Batman.

"Alright," Andi said. "Batman, move in. Copper, tell your men they're done."

"Roger," Gordon said. "Over and out."

Batman's GPS dot began the slow trek across the screen at the same time as the sirens turned off and drove away. Deadshot wanted to see Batman make a dramatic entrance—they'd give him exactly that. Andi's hand hovered over the keyboard.

"Now," Bruce growled. Andi pressed the command in.

An unbearable, high pitched feedback sounded in her radio for about three seconds. Andi gave a cry of pain that she couldn't hear—

And then, every window in Deadshot's building shattered at the same time as Bruce flew in. Andi stopped breathing for a solid ten seconds as she waited for some sign, some sound that told her what was going on.

The thermal on her screen split into two dots and she heard Deadshot's voice. "If you want him dead, please come in."

Not one person. Two.

"Azrael," Andi said, keeping her voice as low as possible to avoid distracting Bruce. "He's got a hostage."

"Unoriginal," Batman said, and Andi knew he was trying to pass them information. "Strap a man to a bomb."

"Effective. You know what this is?"

"Dead man's switch."

"Son of a bitch," Azrael muttered. Andi privately agreed. A dead man's switch. If Deadshot twitched, if he took a finger off the button he was holding, the hostage, and maybe Bruce and Deadshot, would go up in smoke.

"Azrael," she whispered. "You have to keep that from going off."

"How?"

"Only chance is to ambush him. Clamp his hand to the device before he knows you're there and don't let him loose. Circle behind the building, he's moved around some. Batman, keep him talking."

"Why this?" Bruce growled. "Why not set a trap or run?"

Andi could almost hear Deadshot shrug. "I would. But my employers asked me to deliver a message. They have a flair for overwrought dramatics, it seems."

"And you obey every order. Good dog."

"You have your code, I have mine."

"Alright, I'm in the building," JP whispered. "Still can't see him, though."

"No, and you aren't going to. He's blocked by a wall." Andi's eyes darted between JP's camera and Deadshot's heat signature. "Move thirty feet to the left. No, just a little farther… there. You can't see it, but he's right in front of you. Just drywall between you two, you should be able to ram through it."

"Got it."

Her heart pounding somewhere in her throat, Andi listened to Bruce and Deadshot again. "Message?" Bruce asked.

"Drs. Quinzel and Isley no longer want me to kill you. They want me to break up your team, so that you can't fight back as I destroy their new victim."

JP's eye camera twitched, his vital signs speeding up on one monitor. He was getting ready to make his move.

"Wait," she breathed. "Attack after he names the target."

"Well?" Bruce asked. Andi knew what the answer would be, could feel it lying heavy in the pit of her stomach, but she still didn't want to hear it.

"Gotham."

JP leaped at him.

Fast, so fast Andi could barely see it, Deadshot whirled away, switch still clutched in his hand. Bruce's arm whipped forward—Andi caught a glimpse of two lead balls twisting through the air, and then the cable between them snapped taut and wrapped around Deadshot's fingers, pinning them to the trigger.

JP and Bruce moved together, and Andi lost track of things in the shadows. She saw a foot lash out, heard Bruce grunt in pain, blood drip into JP's eye, the glitter of a knife, only instead of stabbing at them, Deadshot turned it on his trapped hand, imprecise, slicing through his own flesh so that he could slip his fingers through the cord. The weights fell away, and suddenly—even though they had him on the ground, bleeding, JP and Bruce stopped, knowing that they'd lost.

Breathing heavily, bandages half falling from his face, more disheveled than Andi had ever seen him, Deadshot wriggled free. Batman and Azrael stood up, but didn't fight. Deadshot's hand, the one still holding the trigger, was bleeding everywhere, but he didn't seem concerned. He raised his free arm, wrist gun coming up to aim at one of them, but then paused and lowered it.

"Oh, _very_ clever."

He sounded, for all the world, as if an opponent had made a smart move in a game of chess.

"Two Batmans? Ms. Taylor really has outdone herself this time."

Bruce and JP stayed quiet, tense.

"Of course, one of you is Azrael, but if I know her, she's made it impossible to tell. If you were still my target, I couldn't figure out which of you to kill. She knows me better than I thought."

Deadshot's eyes, darting between the two of them, suddenly stilled and focused on just JP. "But she's forgotten who you are. Azrael."

"He's guessing," Andi whispered. "Neither of you respond."

Sure enough, his gaze switched to Bruce and fixed him with the same, dead stare. "All this time working with her—you have her convinced you're tame. That you're like _him_, the _real_ Batman, don't you? That you're not a killer?

"But I know you. You won't risk losing your shot at me. Not to save the life of someone like this." Deadshot's head jerked towards the hostage, but—thank God—neither Bruce nor JP took the bait and glanced away.

"Alright," Andi said, even though she could feel the game slipping away. "I know you need to look, but you have to do it in unison—he could be baiting you to see who responds first. On my go. Three—two—one—_go."_

The camera swung around and took a moment to focus. Andi groaned.

The drug dealer. He was tied to a chair, unconscious, the explosives tied around his chest. A man JP hadn't killed before out of respect for their rules—rules he'd told them he no longer played by.

"Don't do it, Azrael," she said, already knowing it was hopeless. "Keep the gun in its holster, don't—"

"I'll make it easier," Deadshot said. He stretched his arms wide, still holding the trigger for the bomb in one bloody hand. "I won't shoot back. So it's down to you two—Batman either fights his ally or allows me and my hostage to die."

"Don't do it, Azrael," Andi said again. "Don't you see, this is what he wants, us to fight and let him get away. To break us up so that he can destroy the city and fight each of us one by one."

Deadshot's eyes glittered weirdly in the darkness. "She's better than I thought. But not good enough. I've been hired to destroy Gotham. I think the military base is a good place to begi—"

JP attacked, but not against Deadshot. He dove low and to the side, aiming a kick straight into Bruce's injured knee. Batman went down and Azrael spun back to Deadshot, tackled him, pulled out his gun—

And Andi twisted her ring, delivering the highest electrical shock into his body.

JP convulsed. Andi could see it, the way his eyes half-shuttered, his body tossing so that the camera shook every which way.

What she didn't expect, hadn't had time to think about, was that the shock spread to Deadshot too. She caught a glimpse of his hand tightening on the trigger, then as the shock faded, start to loosen—

"Get it!" she screamed, and by some miracle Bruce heard her, launching himself forward on one leg, diving onto the switch and rolling away with it in his hand. Andi lost sight of him, but his voice echoed through her earpiece seconds later.

"Device disabled. About to secure Deadsh—"

JP's eyes snapped open, and they were fixed on Batman. Before Andi even had time to scream a warning, he threw himself forward. Bruce barely got his hands up in time, and then they were fighting, two masters using everything they had to take each other down.

It was nothing like the dance Andi had seen earlier from Bruce, no graceful dodges or painless kicks or beautiful technique. The two smashed into each other like tanks, armor and bone crunching, doing everything they could to break the other. Maybe it would have been different if Bruce wasn't injured, JP just electrocuted, Andi had no idea. And she had no time to see who would win. Praying that he would forgive her, knowing he wouldn't, Andi pulled up her cellphone's keypad. She waited until JP was clear of Bruce, and shocked him again, more gently this time.

He went down, and Andi couldn't see anything except floor as he fell.

"Batman, come in," she snapped. "Is Deadshot there?"

"No." Bruce was breathing hard, the gruffness in his voice almost replaced by the broken panting. "Escaped."

"Alright. He can't have gone far; we disabled all the vehicles within a mile. I'm pulling up thermal imaging again. Hang tight."

She turned to the satellite image, trying to figure out how far Deadshot could have gotten, when a gunshot sounded in her ear.

Andi spun back to her cellphone so fast that she felt a muscle pull in her back. JP's camera showed him still lying on the ground and Batman standing over him, uninjured. Azrael must have fired a warning shot, but now his was gun lined up, centered right at Batman's bare jaw.

"You were playing me the whole time," he said, voice almost as raspy as Batman's.

There was silence.

"No," Andi said. "No, Azrael, he wasn't. It—It wasn't him that set off your suit. It was me."

"Oracle?"

One friend. She'd had one friend left in the world, and Andi could feel him slipping through her fingers. She closed her eyes. "Get out of here. Take off the suit, leave your contacts behind, and leave. Please, Azrael just—just go."

There was an even longer silence, and then the pistol lowered.

"The contacts?" JP asked. She could hear the gears in his head turning. "You've been watching me this whole time."

"Oh get off your high horse," Andi snapped. "You lied to me too. Hiding the gun, pretending you hadn't tried to kill Deadshot. We might have been friends, but we've never trusted each other."

Silence.

"You're wrong." JP took out the lenses and left Andi staring at wooden boards. "We were never even that."

"Az—"

The com crackled in her ear, then changed to static. A few seconds later, Bruce said, "He's gone, Oracle. Smashed the earpiece and GPS first. I imagine we'll find the suit in a dumpster in a couple of hours."

"Right. Right. I, uh…" Why were her cheeks wet? She had known this was coming. He was right. They had never been friends.

"Deadshot," Batman said. "Pull it together. We have to find Deadshot."

"He'll be long gone by now," Andi said tonelessly. But she turned around to the screen anyway, because what else was there to do?

"Looks like the first part of his plan worked. He managed to break us up."

"Yeah he did."

There was a long silence as Andi stared at the satellite's images, trying to make any sense out of them.

"How's the search coming?"

"Can you just give me a second?"

That old feeling, the feeling of things _clicking_ started up again in her head. And she hated it, hated that JP was right and she was still in control rather than being a normal human and breaking down, but she knew better than to ignore it, however dead she felt inside.

"Oracle, I know you're upset, but we don't have time—"

"That's not it."

"Then what?"

"When he turned Azrael against us… he knew exactly what to say. Almost as if he knew what _I_ was saying, so he could counter it.

"And before. Deadshot figured out we were coming at that warehouse before we were even close. He knew about the tracker JP had put in the drug dealer. How? Deadshot was always one step ahead of us, anticipating what we would do better than I can, and that's saying something.

"Unless… unless he wasn't anticipating. Unless he was listening to every word we said. He hacked our radio frequency or bugged us. It's the only explanation that—"

"Get out. _Now._"

"What? Why?"

"Because he if he can listen, he can track."

"Wait, I don't underst—" But Andi's brain was filling in the blanks before she even finished the sentence. Deadshot had been ordered to separate them. He'd pulled Azrael away, but Andi and Bruce were still fighting together. He'd had his shot at Bruce and didn't take it, and that meant the only one left for him to target…

And he could track where she was. A sitting duck.

"I'm turning off communications." Andi pushed the Tumbler into reverse, started to back up. "I'll do evasive maneuvers, make sure I'm not being followed, before—"

The Tumbler rolled over the landmine.

* * *

Upside down. The world was upside down. Upside down and hot and orange. So much orange, flickering.

Andi shook her head, trying to clear it, but that turned out to be a mistake. The pain in her head just got worse, and the ringing in her ears turned deafening.

_Explosion_, she realized. _There was an explosion. I must have been out for… I don't know. Seconds? Minutes? Hours?_

She touched her earpiece, trying to decide if it was just broken or if she couldn't hear, and it crumbled to pieces.

_Can't have been too long,_ she decided. _I'm hanging upside down in the Tumbler. Lips are swollen, face is flushed, but I can still think straight. Mostly. Should probably… figure out… how to get out…_

Before she could even fumble at the straps, a hand reached in through the broken glass and started pulling at the harness. For a split second, she thought it was Bruce, that she was safe, and then her brain caught up and she realized the hand had a gun strapped on it.

The straps came undone and Andi fell, landing straight on her aching head. She was aware of something tugging at her shoulders, pulling her, her chin scraping on asphalt, and by the time her sight cleared, she was out of the Tumbler and Deadshot had planted a knee in her back. Andi craned her head around just far enough to see him.

She'd never gotten a good view through JP's eyes; he'd been draped in bandages on a small screen. He'd removed them now.

Deadshot's face was wrecked. Angry red cuts with black sutures, a collapsed cheekbone, his left eye socket empty. He'd covered the right with a scope, probably to correct for the missing visual fields and depth perception.

His mouth moved, but Andi couldn't hear a word.

"What?" she said, somehow knowing that her voice was far too loud, even though she could barely hear her it.

"I said that I have very strange employers, Ms. Taylor," he said. Even shouting like he must be, even with how much it must hurt his damaged jaw, his voice still held that perfectly calm, almost bored tone. "I had you cornered, and Dr. Isley wouldn't let me touch you. But after you refused to run, to take the hint, she changed tactics. They want you out of the action. Unable to protect him or Gotham."

"Then cut the monologue and kill me," Andi snarled. Her hands were still free, and she grabbed at a jagged piece of glass.

He seized her wrist before she could swipe at him, twisted until she dropped it. His other hand yanked her back by her hair, then slammed her forehead into the pavement so hard that she almost blacked out again.

"You misunderstand," Deadshot said as if nothing had happened. His hand pulled her head back again, and she looked past the blood dripping down her face into where his cool, dead eyes should be. "They didn't pay me to kill you. They paid to make you helpless."

Something cold and hard pressed into the middle of her back.

"For what it's worth, Ms. Taylor, you're one of the few opponents I've respected. Well played."

She didn't hear the bullet. Didn't feel it make an impact.

For an eternal, empty second she couldn't think or breathe or see. She didn't know where she was, what she was doing, her own name, she just knew that there was something indescribably wrong.

"Batman." Wrong, everything wrong, needed to fix it, needed—"Batman. Bat…"

She slid away as the world imploded.

**End of Part II**


	18. Flight

**Part III**

**Chapter 18:** Flight

When Azrael was a kid, he'd dreamed of flying.

It was what every boy did. Tie on a cape, jump off the roof—in his case the top of the chimney; he'd never done half measures—and end up in the ER with something broken. He'd almost joined the Air Force after high school before he'd figured out it wasn't the kind of flying he wanted.

This, though, gliding on Wayne's high tech wings, was how he'd always imagined flight. His muscles shrieked at him, shocked and battered and pulled taut to keep him in the air, and the pain cleared his head. He focused on nothing but the updrafts underneath him, steering between buildings, catching himself and swinging up again on the grappling hook whenever he got too low. When he finally touched down on the top of a skyscraper, dawn had just started to break over the bay.

The wind was strong up here, the air colder and just a bit thin, but the early morning light showed that all he had for company were a couple of pigeons. He tore off the helmet, gloves, and cape and allowed himself a five minute rest before he went to work.

He almost ditched the suit. He knew that Andi and Wayne expected it. But he was alone, hunted, and even though Azrael had his pride, he wasn't stupid. Body armor this good was hard to come by.

Instead, he pulled the wings' frames from the material and examined them. Thin, flexible rods, like he'd suspected, easily bent into the shape he wanted. He MacGyvered them into a set of tent poles, draped the material over the top, and slipped inside to get out of the wind.

Azrael stripped to the skin when he went inside, and went over the whole suit and its equipment—night vision goggles, batarangs, grappling hook, smoke grenades—piece by piece. He ripped out the electric wires Andi had built in first, then checked every inch for bugs, trackers, or any other kind of trap. Nothing there. He treated the burns from where the wires had made contact with his skin as best he could, then pulled his shirt over them and tried to tune out the throbbing beat. His vision was just a little fuzzy; damned if he knew how he'd get fresh contacts that fit his prescription.

The sun was well and truly up by that point, and even though his body was crying out for sleep, Azrael could feel the clock ticking. How long until Deadshot started up again? And what little trail there was would go cold the more time Azrael took. He pulled the parts of the armor he could conceal under his clothes back on, took his gun—three bullets left, ammo a top priority—then left the rest of his gear bundled up in the tent. He forced the small maintenance door open and headed for the stairs, and then out into the open streets of Gotham's business district.

After the isolation of Wayne Manor and the Batman, it was refreshing to be out in a crowd, even if it was Gotham's rush hour. Azrael had to remind himself that the FBI and Order both were looking for him, that he couldn't stand out, especially when a cute blonde smiled at him, and when he saw a boss yelling at a hapless intern in a way that _begged_ for someone to step in. Instead, he swiped the jerk's wallet, then picked more pockets and purses as he went, collecting easy cash and maxing out their ATM withdrawals—fingers gloved, face hidden behind a hoodie at the machine. FBI might be incompetent, but even they would catch that rookie mistake.

He had a couple of weapons' caches across the city, but what with the Order out for him and everything he'd told Andi in the past few weeks, he wasn't sure if they were compromised. Gotham's gun laws being what they were, his best chance for getting armed were the gangs, not a gun store.

Cleaning them out was quick and easy. Ever since the Batman got on the scene, the gangs guarded their places better at night than in the day. Azrael slipped past or knocked out the one or two guards at each hideout without a problem and cleared out the good quality stuff. By noon, he was armed with half a dozen knives, four grenades, a Glock that he was pretty sure had come off a cop—serial number filed off and everything—two rifles hidden in a duffle bag, and enough ammo to fight off a modest zombie apocalypse.

* * *

Azrael told himself that he'd just wandered at random after that, trying to get a better read on Gotham. But he wasn't exactly surprised when, around the time he finished his recon, he ended up at the city's army base.

He hesitated outside, trying to think it through. He was no good at head games, and Deadshot knew it, but now he didn't have a choice. Would Deadshot go through with it and attack the base or wouldn't he? If Azrael had the same mission, destroying Gotham, he'd start here—but he was a soldier, and of course he thought of military targets first. Deadshot was a hired gun, and both he and his employers operated on a wavelength Azrael would never figure out.

Andi might. Andi wasn't here.

After several minutes, Azrael shrugged. Deadshot might or might not attack here, but there weren't any other leads to go on. Might as well look around, figure out how to stop any possible attacks if they _did _happen.

With that in mind, he circled around the army base, looking for weaknesses, security gaps, anything that a lone attacker might use to get access to the base. There were a sad number. Gotham's soldiers were a little bit sharper than most, with the dangers the city offered, but their higher ups were that much more incompetent. He shored up where he could—mending a gap in a fence, tilting a camera just so to cut out its blind spot—and resolved to come back the next day with more cameras to monitor where he couldn't. He might not be able to stop Deadshot from attacking the base, but Azrael would make damn sure that his face was plastered on every newsstand and FBI database within twenty minutes if he did. Watch him be a hidden assassin after _that._

The sun was going down by the time Azrael was done; Gotham had a very small military presence, but it was still a lot of ground to cover. He headed from there to a public library, where he sent off several bomb and sniper threats to the base, focusing their attention on security gaps wherever he could.

It was full dark out by the time he made it back up to the skyscraper. He stowed away his weapons, ensured that the cash was stacked where it couldn't get blown away, reassembled the suit and wings, then stopped, hesitating even longer than he had at the military base.

Wayne's informants were the best out there. Azrael knew it. He also knew that Wayne would protect their safety at any cost. If Batman found out Azrael had questioned or endangered them, he wouldn't let Azrael walk away like last night.

But if they had information on Deadshot…

Decision made, Azrael finished putting the wings on himself and sent texts via his old burn phone—needed to pick up a new one tomorrow—to Wayne's contacts. Azrael was almost sure by now that Andi was right and Wayne wouldn't kill him. For the rest, he'd have to trust that Wayne was smart enough to see they had a common enemy. If they fought each other instead, they'd screw each other up so badly neither one of them would be in any shape to take down Deadshot.

Benoit, the first person on his list, was waiting for him on the top of the building when he got there, looking a bit like a green-eyed cat. An _angry_ green-eyed cat, going by the way her eyes were narrowed and her arms folded.

"Look," she said the second his feet touched down. "I get that what you do is important. Believe me, I do. But I just faked a family emergency to perform a six hour surgery for you, I have my boards in two weeks, have not gone home in forty-eight hours, and my coworkers are going to ask questions if I always take off up to the roof for no reason. So stay out of my hair until I've had some sleep, got it?"

_Surgery?_ Had Wayne been hurt? One of Gordon's cops? The drug dealer?

Before Azrael could come up with a way of asking without being obvious, her expression softened. She stepped forward, like she was going to put a hand on his arm, then stopped herself.

"I get it, alright?" she said. "I know—I don't know who she is, but I can tell she's important to you. My shift's just ending, so give me six hours to eat and get some sleep, and I'll come check on her. And if there's an emergency, let me know and I'll drop everything, understand? But, God, I used to think doctors' hours were superhuman, but we've got nothing on you. I need to rest, ok?"

Only years of discipline kept Azrael listening to the end; at the word 'she,' it felt like his breath had gotten punched out. Andi. Andi had been hurt bad enough for a six hour surgery, bad enough that Wayne, of all people, was in a panic over her.

Stable, though. She was stable from what Benoit said. Wayne must have interfered in time or Deadshot hadn't had a kill order. Either way, not his problem. He needed to get information from Benoit on Deadshot and move on.

"Go over her injuries again," he said instead. The words were so unexpected that he didn't put the right roughness and tone he was supposed to use, and Benoit gave him a sharp look—one that became even sharper as she met his eyes. Blue eyes.

"You're not…" she breathed, stumbling backward. Then, before Azrael could stop her, she sucked in a breath and yelled, "BATMAN! Batman on the roof!"

Acting on pure instinct, Azrael tackled her, kneed her in the solar plexus and covered her mouth. Her screaming cut off as her air choked out, but she started to struggle and he should have just run, why hadn't he just run from—

Screams from down below. For a split second Azrael thought they were for him and then he realized that there was a steady popping sound coming from a nearby building, close to him, a sound like fireworks or a—

_Shooter.  
_

"Stay down," he barked at Benoit, praying she'd listen. He army crawled to the edge of the roof, staying as low as he knew how, and pulled out Wayne's night vision goggles to see what was going on.

There. Down by the parking garage. Doctors and nurses were scrambling for cover, those who tried to give first aid mowed down. Shift change. Easy pickings. He looked upwards instead, scanning for Deadshot.

The door slammed behind him, Benoit making good on his distraction, but he didn't pay attention except to hope she had the sense not to run outside. The angle of the shots, the targets chosen, he should be—_there._

A half-open window, maybe five stories below him, across the street. Zooming in with the goggles, Azrael could see the gun and Deadshot behind it, face covered with a white mask, movements as calm and precise as if he was playing a video game. His usual, quieter gun was gone, probably abandoned in the hideout they'd busted, but the lower quality replacement didn't affect his accuracy. Azrael had never tried a jump that precise from such a long distance, not without Andi's voice guiding him, but now wasn't the time to hesitate. He pulled out a grenade in one hand, grappling hook in another, straightened, and plunged toward his target.

Halfway through the jump, he aimed the grappling gun at the roof, fired. The momentum change swung him around, nearly wrenched his arm out of his socket. Azrael twisted with it and lobbed the grenade through the open window.

The explosion hit two seconds later, but Azrael had already pressed the button on the grapple to pull him up, was yanked out of range. The building he was on shook with the force, sent him spinning on the cable like a kid on a carnival ride, but the hook stuck and he made it to the roof just in time to see cops—finally—surrounding the building. He could hear a helicopter approaching, but he couldn't focus on that, had to look confirm his hit on—

_"DAMN it!"_ Stories below him, a tiny figure hopped into a cop car, emptied as the police approached his building, and drove off in it. The person was smaller than an ant from his vantage point, but Azrael knew who he was. Somehow Deadshot had known he was coming, had avoided…

The helicopter was getting closer.

It wasn't a last minute escape, Azrael realized. Deadshot hadn't just happened to be in the same place as Batman. No, he'd set Azrael up to take the fall for this, to either get himself captured or Wayne blamed for the attack.

The helicopter's search lights were just visible now, reflected off glass around the buildings, but Azrael didn't sit and wait. By the time it reached the bombed building, he was two blocks away, watching the killing field as medics began to search for wounded. Azrael allowed himself to observe for thirty seconds, then turned away. Not much of a point in watching it.

Deadshot didn't leave survivors.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Um... yeah... sorry, y'all. I swear, Andi will show up personally in the next one!


	19. Survivor

**Author's Note:** Just a quick note about timing in this chapter; it takes place around the middle of Azrael's chapter, not right after the end. In case anyone's wondering why everyone isn't freaking out over the hospital yet.

* * *

**Chapter 19:** Survivor

Beep. Beep. Beep.

_EKG,_ Andi thought. _Bradycardia. Regular._ She wanted to look, check the heart monitor's rhythm, see who the patient was, but she was too warm, her body loose and languid, her mind floating...

* * *

When she surfaced again, the soft, lax feeling was gone. Her head felt heavy, weighted down by her drooping eyelids. She pulled them open and let her eyes trail across the EKG, saline bag, an empty room with white tile walls, and sitting next to her bed—

"Gordon?"

"Don't try and get up." He pressed a hand to her shoulder and Andi stilled, boneless as an octopus.

"How long was I out?"

"About half a day."

Andi decided to examine herself for injury instead of press. She flexed her fingers, tried to focus her eyes on different objects, watched her heart rhythm diagrammed in squiggly lines across the screen at the foot of her bed. It all looked fine. She wanted to go back to sleep, so she bit the inside of her cheek, hard, to keep her eyes open.

"Do you remember what happened?" Gordon asked.

"Deadshot. He..." Andi shook her head, her mind shying away from the explosion, the terror. "Has he started yet? Destroying Gotham?"

"Let's talk about that when you're not coming up from anesthesia, alright?"

"Gordon…" He gave her a look that said he wasn't going to change his mind, and Andi sighed. "Fine. Keep your secrets. Batman's probably waiting in the wings for me to help out, and that means I wait thirty minutes longer for him to tell me."

"So wait thirty minutes."

Andi rolled her eyes and kept checking herself. There was a plastic brace wrapped around her upper body, shaped a bit like a corset, so she couldn't palpate her abdomen. Probably to support and immobilize her where she'd been shot. Tensing her abs brought a wave of nausea and an odd feeling closer to her legs, but she put that down to the painkillers. They'd always made her feel sick.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Underground."

Andi glanced around the windowless, bare room, then back at him. "Yeah, I've got that, thanks."

She expected Gordon to protest or raise an eyebrow at her sass, but instead he shrugged. Must have been really worried about her. "I wasn't allowed to see much more than that. It sounded like a construction site when he brought me in, but I couldn't tell you any more."

One of Bruce's secondary caves, then. Probably the one he'd used while Wayne Manor was getting rebuilt.

Andi checked her breathing—deep in, long out, no hitching or cough or pain—before continuing.

"Is he... is Batman...?"

"Deadshot didn't touch him."

"But Deadshot was tracking us. Listening to everything we said."

"Yeah. Batman said that there was tech Deadshot must have gotten from the Order of St. Dumas involved. He'd been using it to listen and track what was supposed to be a secure frequency. Your headquarters have more protection than the car, though, so Deadshot never tracked that down. And the codenames protected Batman's identity."

"We got incredibly lucky," Andi said, now stretching and flexing each muscle in her arms and neck to make sure they worked.

Gordon glanced at her, and his mouth twisted like he was trying not to cry. "I wouldn't say that."

Andi shrugged. "I don't seem to be hurt too bad. Who patched me up?"

"A, uh, a Doctor Benoit."

"Ah. Makes sense."

"You know her?"

"Not really. Know of her, though."

Gordon hesitated, like he was going to say more, but then stopped. There was a funny expression on his face.

"What'd she say the damage was?"

He didn't answer. Andi tried to kick her right foot, but her leg seemed to have fallen asleep.

"She... uh..."

Andi kicked again, both legs at once, but even though she was watching her feet under the sheet this time, they didn't so much as twitch.

Something was wrong. Deeply wrong.

"Gordon..."

"She's just an ER doctor, Taylor, not a spinal doctor or a surgeon, you shouldn't take her word as—"

Andi was hyperventilating now, all her attention focused on her legs. She tried to swing them, wiggle the toes, move her feet, anything, anything at all, but—

"_Gordon why won't my legs move?!"_

She was thrashing now, flailing so much that at last her legs shifted, tugged along behind her body like the tail of a kite. Gordon put his hand back on her shoulder, pushed her down, so Andi grabbed the sheet and ripped it clear, staring at them. Still there. Still perfect. Still as the legs of a broken doll.

"No," she whispered. "Oh God, no no no."

She stilled and Gordon pulled away. Andi let him, watching her legs. Then she started clawing at them, dragging red furrows with her nails, trying to make them feel something, anything.

"Stop that!" Gordon said. "Hey! Hey, Taylor, _stop!"_

A choked noise came out of Andi's mouth, half sob, half groan. Gordon draped the blanket back over her legs and turned away from her. After a few seconds, he grabbed a cup off the side table. He sounded very, very tired. "Here, just... just drink some water. Try to stay calm."

He held the glass so close to her face that Andi had no choice but to accept a couple mouthfuls. It did calm her down a little bit, although the nausea only got stronger.

"How bad?" Andi asked. "How... how much..."

"Not... as bad as it could be. Benoit says it's almost the best you can get for a..."

"Broken back?" Her voice sounded numb, disconnected from her, as if it too was going to go off where she couldn't reach it.

"Um, yes. She says it's low down, won't affect much more than your legs and, uh—well—your—"

"Bathroom habits?" Yes, she could see the bag and tubing now that she looked. That and sex were the first to go in these kinds of injuries. She still _could_ have sex, but she wouldn't feel it. Not that she'd had great prospects on that front anyway, and why the hell was she even worried about _that _when she'd couldn't run or climb stairs or twitch so much as a goddamn toe?

"Yes," Gordon sounded relieved that she'd been the one to say it.

"Was there—did it hit anything else?"

"No. Clean cut. She was surprised that he managed it with a bullet. Almost surgical, she says."

Of course. Of course it had been. Andi closed her eyes, but then opened them a second later. She couldn't stop staring at _them_, as if, by looking hard enough, she could make them part of her body again.

She couldn't think of her legs right then. Had to distract herself with something—anything—else. Even if she knew it would hurt her worse.

"Are you the only one who's here right now? Or did he… has he…" She barely managed to get it out.

Gordon didn't answer.

"You can come out and say it," Andi whispered after a minute. "He abandoned me. Again."

"He saw it happen," Gordon said. "Carried you all the way here from what I understand—his knee's so bad he can barely walk. Got Benoit to save you. Assisted in the surgery. He fought for you, Taylor, fought so hard to…"

To keep her alive. He'd fought to save her just like he would for anyone else in Gotham. And just like he would for anyone else, he didn't bother staying around long enough to make it personal.

"I... I need some time alone," Andi said.

"Taylor, I don't think that—"

"I appreciate the help, Gordon, but I... I have to... I just need to... please."

"Alright." Gordon pulled out his phone, sent a message to... someone. Bruce probably. He'd talk to Gordon. Gordon was still useful. "I'll be out of here in five minutes."

* * *

When Gordon came back an hour later, Andi was on the ground, caught in a mesh of wires and plastic tubing. A spray of clear vomit—nothing to spit up but the water he'd given her earlier—had dribbled down her chin and soaked her hospital gown. She looked up at him, then back down so she could swipe at her eyes.

She heard him pause and wondered if he was debating walking out like everyone else had. Wondered what she'd do if he did. And then Gordon sighed and came up to her. He pulled the heart monitor's leads off, unhurried, coiling them neatly, leaving a sticky residue on her skin. He fixed her IV next, undoing the knots and making sure the needle hadn't torn her skin. Andi watched him and tried to feel something. Anything at all.

He left for a second and came back with a wet rag. Andi stayed still as he came closer, but then she suddenly couldn't take it—being cleaned up like a child smeared with baby food. She grabbed the rag from him, and Gordon surrendered it, still not saying a word.

"I tried to get up," Andi said when she was done. Her voice was a croak. "I thought if I could just act like my legs were normal, then maybe they'd… God, I'm so stupid."

"Don't think about it. Let's just get you back in bed."

"How?" Andi asked. "You can't pick me up when my back's this screwed up It might as well be on Neptune."

Gordon didn't say anything, so Andi relaxed against the cold floor again. At least she did until she closed her eyes, and suddenly Deadshot had her pinned down again and her face was pressed to the ground and there was a gun at her back—

Andi tensed, swallowed.

"Let's try it anyway. Not like things can get worse."

It wasn't as bad as she'd feared. Humiliating, yes, and the wound in her back was painful enough to bring tears back to her eyes, but not impossible. She tried to help, but mostly ended up with her face planted in Gordon's shoulder while he lifted her, trying not to whimper. Gordon straightened her legs out after he was done, arranging them like he might a puppet's. He paused at the sight of the raw claw marks on her calves. She'd torn at them again as soon as she was alone, digging for some kind of sensation. Instead of saying anything, or even looking at her, he covered them neatly with hospital gown and sheet.

"I... I don't know what to do, Taylor."

Andi shook her head. There were another few minutes of silence.

"Can I look at the scans?" she asked. "And Dr. Benoit's notes?"

Gordon glanced around the room. "I think she said they were in here." He passed her a computer tablet of medical records. Andi stared at them for a good five minutes, unseeing, then shook herself and began to read.

She read and re-read every word, making sure she understood exactly what had happened, before she handed it back. Gordon didn't ask, but then he didn't have to—the bleakness on her face was answer enough.

"She's a good doctor," Andi said after a minute. "They should have had her operate on Batman instead of me. I screwed up his knee because I didn't know what I was doing."

"But they decided to trust you and not her," Gordon said. "And you saved his life—took charge in the middle of a shooting, and made the kinds of choices that Benoit could never deal with."

"And look where that got me," Andi said. "Besides, you'll have to get her next time. Not like I can operate from a..." she couldn't make herself say it. Couldn't even think the word 'wheelchair' to herself.

"Taylor—"

"I want to see him."

Gordon looked taken aback. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"No. It's a terrible one. But I need to see him sooner or later. And better to do it now before I lose my nerve."

She expected Gordon to argue, but apparently being disabled got special, pity-privileges because he just nodded. "It will take a little while. The sun just went down and he's beating every criminal he can find to a pulp to get a lead on Deadshot."

_Of course he is. He has to find Deadshot. I'm not important. _And now, not even useful—a liability, not an asset. Andi swallowed but didn't say anything, and Gordon left to make the call. He didn't come back, so Andi kept herself busy by trying to check the gunshot wound. It was still painful, the torn muscles throbbing worse than ever since her stunt falling out of bed. She couldn't touch it—the brace extended to her numb hips—but that didn't stop her from pressing her hand against the plastic, trying to find the line between emptiness and pain.

The rising platform made a horrible, grinding noise as stone slid against stone. Andi hastily straightened her body before Bruce could see her.

"Taylor?"

"You look terrible."

It wasn't what she'd meant to say, but it was true. His clothes were rumpled, like he'd thrown them on as fast as he could after pulling off the suit, and he had huge black bruises under his eyes. It looked as if he hadn't slept for days, even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since she'd been shot. He was finally wearing a brace on his knee, but he still limped as he walked toward her.

The silence between them stretched, grew like a living thing.

"Where were you?" Andi finally muttered, not meeting his eyes.

"I tried to reach you. As soon as you stopped responding, I tried to—I got there just in time to see Deadshot run off."

It wasn't what she'd meant. But what was the point asking if he'd been through hell, if he'd been afraid for her life, if he'd cared at all that she'd lost her legs? She could see that he had. Just like she could see that it hadn't mattered, in the end. Even now, with her spine shattered in the line of duty, he hadn't let it change what he did, what he fought for.

And it wasn't her. It never would be.

"I'm leaving Gotham."

She didn't know where the words came from. She hadn't planned on saying them, hadn't even considered leaving until that moment. But as soon as they flew out of her mouth—no, as soon as they formed in her throat—she knew they were true.

"I don't think Doctor Benoit would approve you moving right now."

"Not right this minute. But as soon as I can safely leave. I want out. Can you—can you do that?"

He stared at her, a world of unspoken emotion there, and then nodded. "Where do you want to go?"

"South America. Or somewhere else halfway across the world," Andi said. Again, the words seemed to form on their own. "And no more half-measures; I'm out of the game for real, this time. This alias needs to be absolutely unbreakable. And for that, I need your help, not just Gordon's."

"You'll have it."

Andi grimaced. There were so many other things to say—a whole weight of history and loss and regrets pressed down on her chest, and she felt like she should say something to close it off, make it complete somehow, but she couldn't come up with the words. Like everything else, that was shattered too.

She opened her mouth to change the topic, maybe ask what Deadshot had done or if Azrael had been seen, but then closed it again instead. No. She needed a clean break.

"I'll miss you," Bruce said quietly.

"You're strong. You'll survive."

It came out stronger than she meant it to. Bruce flinched. "I'll stop by here, at least. Until you leave. Help you figure out how to get back on your—"

"Feet?"

The bitter silence stretched until Andi shook her head. "No. You… you've made your choice. It's time I stopped lying to myself. I've already been hurt, I'm not stupid enough to keep asking for more."

"Andi..."

"Turn up the morphine before you go, would you?"

There was another pause, and Bruce seemed to be struggling, trying to say something and holding himself back at the same time. Andi understood because she couldn't decide whether she wanted him to say it or not.

"I'll send Alfred to do it."

Andi nodded, closed her eyes for a few seconds. She didn't hear him step away, or the stone elevator rise and fall, but when she opened them again, he was gone.


	20. Fury

**Chapter 20:** Fury

"How are you feeling today, Miss?"

"Nothing from the waist down." The joke came out in a bleaker tone than Andi had intended, but Alfred gave her a smile nonetheless.

"I hope you didn't spend too long thinking that one up."

"I got bored. You can only sit and read about pressure sores and CNS research for so long." Andi set the tablet she was reading on the side table and rubbed at her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Almost noon. I would have been here sooner, but Master Wayne was distracted by—"

"Don't," Andi said. "I don't want to know what Deadshot's doing."

Alfred paused. "It's your choice, of course, but I have to admit that it makes no sense to me."

Andi sighed. How to explain it when she herself wasn't entirely sure why she, for once, didn't want to know? "Deadshot… his plan is to make me watch Gotham burn, unable to stop it. Gotham might be burning, and he's right—I can't stop it now—but I'm sure as hell not going to watch. If I can't fight, at least I don't have to give him that satisfaction."

Instead of nodding or changing the subject, like Andi had expected, Alfred frowned at her. "That's a lot of bloody nonsense."

Andi was so taken aback that she opened and closed her mouth a few times before she could answer. "Excuse me?"

"If you chose to fight Deadshot, he would know. And suffer for it."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. But it took me thirty minutes to navigate the _bathroom_, Alfred, and that was with your help."

"If you think your body was ever a weapon like Master Wayne's or Mr. Valley's, you have an over-inflated opinion of yourself," Alfred said. "You know as well as anyone, it was your mind that kept you here. And that—"

"Is half-broken, too," Andi said. "Alfred, I'm still zonked out on painkillers most of the day, I can't focus on anything besides trying to move _them_, and every time I try to go to sleep or close my eyes for too long, I see—I see the explosion and—and the gun and—" she swallowed hard. "Alfred, I need to be in psychiatric and physical therapy right now, and instead I've got you and my own inadequate medical knowledge and internet searches. I'm in no condition to fight this war."

"Even if it means saving lives?"

He'd touched a nerve.

"You don't think I've been over this a thousand times in my head?" Andi demanded. "Whose lives do I save? Who have I _ever_ saved? Not Pam or Leena, that's for damn sure! I couldn't protect Bruce or myself or any of the people the Joker or Harley or Ivy or Deadshot killed! I couldn't stop JP from going back! Couldn't—"

She swallowed, brought her voice back from the edge of hysteria. "Let's face it, Alfred. I've killed, sure. But I've never _saved_ anyone."

"That's simply not true. Master Wayne is only alive because of you. You stopped a bioterrorism attack on this city with no one to help, and you were willing to give up a strong friendship with Mr. Valley to save a stranger. Master Wayne would never have trusted you to manage the Batman had you not been as competent as he is."

"'_Had.' _Past tense. He can't even look at me now. He thinks that I'm a liability, Alfred, and it's true. The most I can do for Gotham now is get out of the way."

Alfred was quiet, and Andi could practically see him debating whether or not to respond. He shook his head after a few seconds and let his face soften. Andi would never admit it, but she was almost disappointed—the few, bright seconds of righteous anger had been cleansing, like draining pus from an abscess. But it was Alfred, and she couldn't really fight with him like she did with JP or Bruce or even Gordon, so she let it drop too.

"I was wondering if I might convince you to try the wheelchair today, Miss. You've been stuck in that bed for long enough."

Andi stiffened in her cast and glanced at the corner. Alfred had wheeled the chair in yesterday, along with more medical equipment and a delicious dinner that Andi had promptly vomited right back up because of one of the meds she was on. The ensuing chaos had kept either of them from mentioning the chair, and she was coward enough to be glad. It was still there, though, in the back corner of the cave, like a giant bear trap waiting for its victim. For her.

"I… isn't there something else we can do?" she asked. "Teach me how to stretch my legs without help or figure out how to get dressed or something like that?"

"You're going to have to learn to navigate a wheelchair sooner or later, Miss. And I imagine you'll feel freer once you do."

"I—I know." Andi couldn't decide which she hated more: the pity on Alfred's face or the vulnerability in her voice. But God help her, she _couldn't_ get in that chair. "Just—not today. Please. Once I do… once I do, it's final. I accept that I'm not walking again and I can't—Alfred, I'm not ready. Please."

There was a pause.

The pity, Andi decided. The pity was definitely the worst.

"We can hazard a sponge bath if you prefer," Alfred finally said. "If you can wait a few minutes while I set it up?"

Andi realized she'd been holding her breath and shakily let it out.

"Yeah," she said. "No problem."

* * *

Batman's knee throbbed.

He couldn't tune it out; it kept beating like a second heart. A reminder that he might have lost it—lost his life—if not for Andi.

He shook his head.

_Focus._ Andi hadn't given up her legs for him to wallow. Her loss should push him toward protecting Gotham, not distraction. He silenced the inner voice that said she hadn't 'given up' anything; they'd been ripped away. On his watch.

_Stop that. Focus_. Across the street, a convoy of trucks was being searched, the army's security tighter than usual. He'd come here in the middle of the day as Bruce Wayne to scope out the base's security, but Azrael had beaten him to it. And, despite Azrael's role in framing Batman for the massacre at Gotham General, he'd done a good job here. It might make Deadshot back off.

It might be taken as a challenge.

Batman was about to start the Lamborghini when he caught sight of a blond head and tattooed arms in the rearview mirror. Before he could follow, the person was gone.

Azrael. If Batman had seen him, it meant Azrael _wanted _to be seen. He might not be as good at reading people as Andi, but after he fought for and with a man, he picked up cues. Azrael was telling him: _Stay back. I'm protecting this area._

Tough. The throbbing in Batman's knee and the bruises from their fight all said not to trust Azrael with a potted plant, much less his city. He pulled out the keys and reached for the door when the burner phone that he and Gordon used rang.

"Commissioner."

"Trillium Park's under fire! Tell me you're close."

"Fifteen minutes."

"Get there _now."_

Across the street, Azrael stiffened, then shook himself and sprinted. Batman almost thought that Azrael had hacked him, but when he turned on the police radio it was already full of calls for backup. Reports of a shooter.

* * *

"Have I ever told you why I left the Royal Air Force?"

Andi looked up from the articles she'd been skimming on spinal shock and shook her head. "I didn't know you enlisted."

"Don't be coy, Miss. You researched me back when you first found out about Master Wayne."

Andi blushed but shrugged. "Alright, then. Why did you leave the Air Force? Please don't tell me you were shot in the leg and couldn't walk. Irony's not my thing."

"Through the chest, actually. It punctured my lung, rocketed into my abdomen, and was finally dug out a centimeter from my right iliac artery. I'm told that's rather important."

"Yeah. It…" Andi remembered Alfred's medical knowledge; he knew exactly how important it was. She still couldn't stop herself from saying: "You'd have been dead fast if that had been hit."

"That's what Thomas Wayne told me."

"Bruce's father? He treated you?"

"No. He was a young, spoiled child determined to be a hero in the middle of a covert operation." Alfred chuckled, as if he was telling a story about his grandchildren. "Stayed out too long in the open and a child fighting for the other side almost got him."

"But you covered him," Andi realized.

"I had already served in the Second World War and Korea, along with several intelligence missions in Burma, China, and parts of Russia. My father had been in service, but to tell you the truth, I thought I was going to break tradition and have a military career. It wasn't until young Master Wayne was born that I realized happiness could be found in other places."

Andi rolled her eyes, not caring if it made her seem like a teenager. "Yes, yes, I see the point you're trying to make. You left one war to work for Thomas Wayne, and twenty or thirty years later his son pulled you into a different war and you realized you could still fight. And now you think I should do the same."

"Not at all, Miss. I left to become an actor for several years, and enjoyed modest success. It was only when I decided to retire that I accepted Mr. Wayne's offer. Your life has to change. It doesn't have to end. And whatever that change means—stay and fight or run off to the edge of the world—it should happen because that's how you choose to live. Not because you're so damaged that you feel you have no other—"

Alfred's phone buzzed, and he broke off to look at it. "I'm afraid I have to go. Deadshot has continued with his plan, it seems."

"It's three in the afternoon!"

"Apparently he does not see a need to conform to Master Wayne's nocturnal schedule."

"Right." Andi bit her lip to keep from asking. Alfred raised his eyebrows, but when he spoke, it wasn't about the attack—at least, not directly.

"You should know, Miss. Master Wayne doesn't think you're a liability. He thinks you've given enough to Gotham, and that he can't ask anything more from you. If you agree, that's your decision to make. But don't make it because it was chosen for you by Deadshot or Master Wayne or myself."

He left instead of waiting for an answer, and Andi somehow kept herself from calling after him.

The tablet she'd been using for medical research still sat on the bedside table. Desperate for distraction, Andi picked it back up to finish the article she'd been reading. A minute later, though, and the words blurred in front of her.

Deadshot had attacked during the day. Close by, from the sound of it. And Bruce would be limited in how he could respond, especially without JP to go out in public.

Would it hurt to at least find out what was going on?

_This changes nothing,_ Andi told herself as she exited PubMed and pulled up a news site instead.

* * *

It was over by the time Batman arrived.

It had been a group of wounded veterans, training for the annual wheelchair games. Deadshot had not only killed them, but the active duty men training with them—twelve people, taken out in just under a minute. No witnesses, no warning.

Batman could do nothing to help. Bruce Wayne was too public a figure to stay unnoticed; people had their cell phones out for video, and he couldn't risk Deadshot seeing him on YouTube. If it wasn't for the over-tinted windows and false license plates on his car, he'd already have been identified.

The cops were already doing their job. Civilians were herded back, the wounded treated. There had been others in the park, easier targets, but they had been ignored in favor of the soldiers and veterans. To get at Azrael, no doubt.

It felt wrong to leave—like deserting Gotham, allowing the attacks to happen, abandoning someone who counted on him. But there was nothing he could do and a perimeter was already halfway set up. Any witnesses would soon be held for questioning, and he couldn't allow that to happen.

Ignoring the chaos, Batman drove away.

* * *

Andi was watching the news on the shooting, enthralled despite herself, when the reports came out.

"And we're receiving word that police are on the lookout for this man, an already wanted fugitive, as a person of interest. He is believed to have sent multiple threatening emails to the army base, and was last seen close to the scene of the shooting before vanishing." The reporter paused, and the screen divided in half to show the park and a grainy black-and-white photo of a tall man with short hair and tattoos—

_JP._

Andi was halfway through dialing Bruce's number on the phone Alfred had left before she stopped herself. No. Bruce would have the police scanner up, he already knew what was happening. Even if he didn't, Andi had no obligation to help. It wasn't her business.

She forced herself back to the tablet's TV stream.

"—Authorities have not released his name yet, but warn that he is likely to be armed and highly dangerous. Anyone who sees him is encouraged to call the police immediately and avoid confrontation." The reporter was a ghoul. Andi remembered her from her time in MCU, always eager for the bloodiest stories. Now, she was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Thank you, Skeeter," the anchor said. "Any news if this terrorist and Batman are working together?"

"There hasn't been official word," Skeeter admitted. "But with two attacks within twenty-four hours, speculation has to include—"

Andi turned the volume to mute.

She should never have checked. Shouldn't have gotten curious. Now that she had, she couldn't turn away. There was a soldier—redhead, probably not even twenty—on the screen, being lifted from his chair into a gurney. But Andi could tell that it was already too late, that he wasn't going to make it to the hospital. And it wasn't pity or horror or even fear that she felt, but a split-second, blinding flash of _fury._

She hurled the tablet away like a Frisbee.

The _thwack _it made as it hit the wall was satisfying for about three seconds, and then she regretted it, especially when she realized she couldn't just go over there and pick it up. She would have to wait for Alfred to come back, check for damage, and carry it over to her because she couldn't do it for herself and why was that even a big deal, why did she care about that at all, when Deadshot had just killed who knew how many…

Andi stuffed her hand in her mouth and bit hard on the knuckle to keep from screaming her frustration and loss and useless rage. Weak. That was what she was. Deadshot had hurt her, broken her beyond repair, and she was powerless to fight back.

The loss hurt worse than her legs.

Helpless. Weak. Cripple. Useless. Liability. Broken. Needy. Paraplegic. Andi felt the words stifling her, clogging her throat, and the hand in her mouth made it worse, but God help her, if she removed it, if she started _crying…_

She took several deep, gasping breaths to get herself under control, glanced around for some kind of distraction, and found herself staring at the wheelchair.

How stupid was she—she was terrified of the wheelchair of all things? Why? Because it would mean she admitted how broken she was? She was so screwed up she wanted to run halfway across the world, and it was the fucking _chair_ she balked at?

Her breathing had slowed, raw loss fading as quickly as it had come, replaced by a dead, despairing ache that was somehow worse.

There was no way, Andi realized dully. No way to escape from what she was afraid of. To pretend she wasn't messed up. No matter what she did, where she went, she would always be seen—she would always see _herself_—as shattered. In the middle of Brazil just as much as hidden here in Bruce's cave.

_I can't_. Andi thought. _I won't. I can't live that way. I can't, I can't, I can't._

But what other option did she have?

She'd given everything she had to protect Gotham and its citizens. Carved out bloody chunks of herself for Batman and JP, Leena and Pam, Gordon, the drug dealer, Bailey, Benoit, the Joker and Deadshot and every other person in this damn city. Allowed herself to be ripped apart, inside and out, sacrificed again and again and _again._

Her job, her identity, her safety, friendships, home, trust, body, all given up, no questions asked, for strangers and friends and enemies.

But not for herself. Never herself.

And if she lived like this, cowering away, always in fear, helpless, there would be no 'self' left to protect. The pieces that she'd given up or lost would float away, forgotten, leaving only a battered husk in the wheelchair, empty of whatever identity it had once had.

It was impractical. Insane. Maybe even wrong. They _would_ be better off without her. But giving up that last, stubborn bit of herself, even for Gotham… God help her, she couldn't do it.

She'd sacrificed everything for Gotham.

But she would not let it break her.

* * *

When Batman returned to the cave, Andi was there, seated in the wheelchair as if it was a throne.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Where's Alfred?"

"Upstairs. He got me into the chair and brought me here, but I asked him to leave us alone." She looked around the cave. "We've got some work to do. This place needs to be handicapped-accessible, and it's the farthest thing at the moment. I feel like I'm about to tip over just sitting here. Unless you think we should just move altogether; if Deadshot could track my location, he might have gotten ahold of yours. I know you think it's unlikely, and I do too, but staying here is still a huge risk. He might already know who you are. Might have told Harley and Ivy, too."

"What—"

She didn't pause. "That's not the priority at the moment, though. Deadshot's here, they're not, and he's targeting Gotham rather than you right now. Alfred's been updating me with what he knows, but I need to know what exactly you've got."

"Andi, you've done enough! You don't—" Batman tugged off the mask so he could look her in the face. "What happened today was tragic, but you are _not_ responsible. I don't want you back because of—of guilt or a sense of duty. You didn't ask for this like I have. You can—"

"I can what?" Andi's tone turned to steel. "Run away? Admit that I'm screwed and let you take care of Gotham? You're doing a bang up job there."

"That doesn't matter."

"Damn right."

"Andi—"

"Bruce Wayne, so help me, if you don't hear me out after _everything_ I've given…" Her voice cracked on the last word, and Bruce closed his mouth.

"This isn't about you," she said quietly. "And it's not about Gotham or guilt or duty, either. It's about me. I've given my identity, my friends and now my _legs_ fighting this, and every step of the way it was my choice. My responsibility.

"You don't get to decide when I'm broken. That's up to me."

Bruce stayed silent for several seconds, staring at her. There was something—something raw and strong and aflame—burning in her eyes. It was intoxicating, heady, to watch it. Like alcohol lit on fire, like a kiss that scorched all thought from his head.

"And?" he finally asked.

The furnace dimmed, her forehead crinkled in confusion.

"And what?"

"Are you broken?"

There was—it wasn't a smile. But her lips relaxed, and she leaned back in her chair, and the furnace was back in all its fury.

"It's like I told you," she said. "We've got work to do."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Weird fact, but in some versions of the comics, Alfred actually was an actor for part of his life. (Yes, I know, that's absolutely the biggest focus of the chapter.) Anyways.

There always seems to be _one_ chapter in a story that I get really nervous about—the chapter that the story hinges on, so it has to be done right. For _Untrusted_, it's this one, so if you've been lurking or just comment every now and then, please please _please_ come out of the woodwork for this one and let me know if I managed to pull this one off!

Also, thanks _so_ much to those of you who've already left reviews! I just passed 100 last week, and was thrilled to death about it!


	21. Burn

**Author's Note (Part I):** Um, it's probably a bit late after last chapter, but I should warn here that Andi's acquiring a bit of a potty mouth. One or two F-bombs in the near future.

* * *

**Chapter 21:** Burn

"Alright, be ready to catch me."

"You're sure you don't want Alfred to do this?"

Andi broke off her staring contest with the wheelchair to give him a wry glance. "Oh, I don't know. Let's think. My first time climbing into the wheelchair on my own, should I have the septuagenarian with arthritis spot me, or the man who could win multiple Olympic medals if he bothered? Tough one."

"It's just—you never want me to see when you're…"

"Weak?" Bruce wondered if she meant for the bitter edge in her voice. "You're right. I hate it. But I realized yesterday I have two options. I can keep fighting, even if I'm damaged and we all know it. Or I can make sure none of you see me like that, and collapse in on myself instead."

"That's not how I—"

She glared up at him, _daring_ him to challenge her. "I don't give a flying fuck about you and your damn opinions. I'm keeping my self respect."

"Good." Bruce made his voice hard and without a hint of pity. "Because you're not weak. Now less than ever."

She wrenched her gaze back to the chair and used her arms to scoot her hips to the edge of the bed.

"Good. Then let's do this. We've got a terrorist to catch."

Bruce watched her bounce up and down on her arms just a little, like a diver on a springboard, preparing herself to jump. She reached one hand down onto the armrest of the wheelchair and paused.

"You should probably breathe," Bruce said.

"Right."

She didn't, though. Instead, Andi splayed her hand over the armrest, hesitant as if she expected it to bite her. When nothing happened, she slowly began to twist around.

The wheelchair rolled backwards and bounced off the wall. Bruce moved to catch her, but she'd already balanced herself, clutching hard on her bed's covers to stay upright.

She finally exhaled in a shaky laugh.

"Okay. That didn't work." She glanced up at him, and despite her laughter, Bruce could see her eyes were glassier than normal. Andi hated this, whatever she pretended. "Um, can you bring that thing back? See if there's a parking brake on it, maybe?"

Bruce did, locking the wheels in place with a lever and standing to her side again. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

She moved quicker this time, getting one arm on the wheelchair, then the other. She stiffened them, locked her elbows, so that her hips dragged around—

He caught Andi on instinct. One arm wrapped around her middle, the other her chest. Her small cry of pain was almost lost in the crash as the wheelchair flipped over, a handle knocking her in the head as it went down.

"You alright?"

"Put me back." Her hair, draped over her face, muffled her voice, but it still sounded impossibly small. Bruce felt something wrench in his chest.

He gently changed his grip, so that she was cradled instead of hanging off of him, then righted the chair with one foot. When he moved to put her in that, though, she stiffened and pushed on his chest until he had to pause or drop her.

"Not the chair!"

"I don't want you injuring your back and making it worse."

"You don't think I'm weak? This is my decision, not yours."

They stayed like that for almost a minute, locked in a battle of wills. Finally, Bruce sighed and set her back on the bed.

She sighed, closed her eyes, and looked like she wanted to do nothing more than wilt into the pillows. Instead, though, she shook her head and opened her eyes again. "Okay. Now move behind the chair and hold the handles."

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"I fell because all my weight's on the front of the chair. If you're holding it, it should stay balanced."

"But you'll have no one to spot you."

"I've got the hang of it. I'll be fine." She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to argue, but Bruce didn't bother. He knew when he'd lost.

"Alright," Andi said, sounding like she was talking to herself more than him. "Alright. I've got this."

She got both arms in place, her torso twisted so that her back would end up against the chair when she was done. Bruce could feel the chair shift, trying to flip again, but she didn't hesitate, counting on him to keep it upright while she worked. She bit her lip, her neck craned so she could watch her legs, and then her muscles tensed and, inch by inch, she somehow rolled her hips over and dragged them into the chair.

Andi spent a little longer to get her legs under her—they were twisted up in a way that looked like it'd be painful if she could feel them—then sighed, looked up at him, and switched off the brake.

"You can let go now."

Bruce did, and watched as she wheeled herself to the door. She had to back up and re-center herself twice before she made it through, but she did it without a sign of impatience. He wanted to say something, something about being proud or impressed or just that she'd done a good job, but she looked back over her shoulder and smirked at him before he could. Her eyes burned.

"You coming? Or am I going to catch Deadshot on my own?"

* * *

"Oracle, come in."

Andi folded her arms and leaned back in her wheelchair, even though Batman was long gone and couldn't see her. "We are _not_ using that stupid codename again."

"Deadshot's linked me and Azrael to his attacks. We can't add you."

Andi glowered at the cave's walls and could almost hear Batman smiling—the image was unsettling.

"We can change the name," he said. "Huntress or Canary or Batg—"

"Oracle works," Andi said before he could try and make her Bat-_anything._ "But I thought you took care of it so that he couldn't listen in again."

"I did. But considering… everything, do you really want to gamble when you don't have to?"

"'Everything' meaning the fact that I'm a cripple?" Andi snapped. "You don't have to dance around it, you know."

"I didn't mean it like—"

"I know you didn't." Andi rubbed the bridge of her nose. _I'm going to need so much therapy after this. And during this, but let's be real—what therapist can I ever tell this to?_ "Forget it, ok? Let's turn on your eye-cam and get to work."

Batman didn't say anything, but a few seconds later one of his computer screens flickered and showed her the view from his eyes. He was on top of a building, scanning for disturbances so quickly that Andi felt a bit of vertigo.

"You know, it would have been really handy if we'd put your camera's amplifier on JP. The expanded radius means we could have avoided the whole carpool situation."

"It's too big." Bruce's eyes dropped to a box about half the size of Andi's palm clipped to his belt. "He'd have asked questions."

"I know, I know," Andi said. "But I can still wish—hold on, police scanner's got something." She paused to listen. "How close are you to Green Street?"

"Five minutes."

Bruce plunged from the building while Andi looked up the address.

"Alright, angle fifteen degrees west and you'll be right on it."

"What is it?"

"Apartment fire. Tall building, poor construction, filled with immigrants. Might be that it was just a fire hazard to begin with—"

"Or Deadshot."

"Exactly." Andi turned to another screen and pulled up schematics of the building as she spoke. "There's also the risk that Deadshot's set up a trap for you again, or is using this as a distraction while he goes after a bigger target."

Batman swung to a terrace, then used his grapple gun to get back up to the roof. "Azrael's around somewhere. He won't stop to help."

"Meaning he'll keep an eye on Deadshot if there's another target. Good thinking." Andi grimaced. She already knew what he would say, but she had to point it out. "But if it's a trap, he won't stop to help you, either."

"I know."

They were in sight of the fire now. Bruce's screen was still dark, but it was the fuzzy dimness of smoke, not night, and tinted with orange. He paused at the next rooftop to put a filter over his mouth.

"Can you still talk with that on?" Andi asked.

"No," he said, muffled but still understandable. Andi rolled her eyes, but he caught sight of the blaze before she could come up with a witty reply.

"That's not a fire. That's an… inferno," she said. The building was twenty stories and looked more like a torch than anything; the scoop taken out of one side suggested an explosion. Andi shook her head instead of allowing herself to stare. "Ok, firefighters are gathered on the other side of the building from this one, should be easy to avoid them. Head to the left, then—_what_ are you _doing?_"

Batman didn't answer, but it was pretty obvious. He'd already circled around the building as she spoke, and as soon as they caught sight of the rescue crews, he dove.

Andi huffed but stayed quiet as he landed in front of one cluster of men, curious about what he would do once he was seen.

It didn't take long to find out. The chief turned around to snap an order and stopped in mid-word, staring. The rest of his ladder followed suit, and for several tense moments there was nothing but silence. For once, Andi was glad it was firemen and not the police, because it meant no one was armed. The men with the hose half turned, and Andi was worried they'd try to use that—body armor or no, it would knock Bruce back, maybe give him a serious injury—but there was a crash from the building, and they turned back to the fire.

Batman nodded towards the blaze. "We're wasting time."

"What do you want?" the chief asked. "You set this?"

"No. But I can get people out."

"Chief, you can't—"

"Quiet, Evans." The chief stared at Batman, trying to read him, but Andi could see the decision already made. Batman was right, they _were_ wasting time, and the situation couldn't get much worse than it already was. "All of you, back to work, now!"

They obeyed, moving fast, and the second they were gone, the chief turned toward Batman again. "Stairs collapsed on floor fifteen. Three of my men still up there, maybe a dozen others. You think you can reach there?"

"Yes."

Bruce turned without another word, walking into an alley before shooting to the roof of another building with the grappling hook and moving to get a good angle on the building. "Oracle?" he asked.

"Got the blueprint of the building pulled up," Andi said. "I can tell you where to walk if the smoke's too thick. The suit's flame-proof, right?"

He just grunted, and Andi prayed that that was a 'yes.' "I'm sending the architectural information over to Todd," she said. "He's got a sim program, meant to show how different damage to the Tumbler or other vehicles will affect them. I bet he can MacGyver it into giving us information on the apartment's structures, too."

"To figure out if it was arson?"

"To figure out when it will collapse. We need to warn the firefighters—and you—when it's time to get out."

"Get on it. I've got this."

"Don't worry about it," Andi said, fingers already flying over the keyboard. "I can walk you through at the same time."

"Losing your legs make you more of a badass?"

Andi swallowed and reminded herself this was no time to be thin-skinned. "I'm typing numbers and watching a dot on a screen. It's not like I'm a super-hacker or something."

He grunted again and dove.

Andi had expected to have to walk him through the apartments, searching for victims; instead, no sooner had he crashed through the windows than the family inside all but threw themselves on him.

The mother was screaming over the roar of the fire, speaking what Andi thought might be Mandarin—damn it, where was Bruce's translation software?—but that didn't seem to be a problem because Batman shouted something back in the same tonal language and she backed off. The camera stopped shaking around as much, at least. A second later, though, and the woman shoved something at his chest, forcing him to either accept it or let it drop.

A baby.

"Batman," Andi said quietly. "The firemen are estimating there are a dozen people left up there, plus their own guys. To fly them one by one out of the building—you don't have that kind of time."

He didn't answer, so Andi did the only thing she could; finished and sent off her message to Fox so she could figure out what kind of time he _did_ have. She kept half an eye on his screen as she worked, watched him root out the firefighters and other families, order everyone up to the roof.

The smoke rose on Bruce's cameras, made it almost impossible for them to see. It looked like he was crawling, staying as beneath the smoke as possible, and judging by the wails coming through over the sound of flames, he held the baby. The family he'd met was pounding on their neighbors' doors, collecting the people who were left.

"Oracle," he snapped, "directions."

"To the roof?" Andi swallowed back her questions. "Uh—ok, twenty feet forward, take a right, fifteen feet, and there'll be a service door on your right."

The computer beeped at her, and Andi tore her eyes from Bruce's screen again to look at Fox's message.

"Whatever you're doing, hurry it up. Todd says we've got maybe eight minutes."

"Tell the firemen."

Oh. Right. Sure, she'd just stand up and walk over to them, then.

Break down later. She didn't have time to feel sorry for herself. Andi grabbed the phone and a few seconds later, Gordon was getting her emergency access to the firefighter's radios while she turned on a voice distorter.

"Building collapses in six minutes," she said, knowing from old experience that they'd push the absolute limit of whatever she told them—"Evacuate in four."

She clicked off just before a roar came through Bruce's com, so loud her hand had halfway yanked out the earpiece before she stopped herself. Andi twisted to Batman's screen, her chair almost tipping over on the cave's uneven floor—

He hadn't fallen through the roof, though, and the building hadn't exploded underneath him either. Instead, the Tumbler was parked next to him, the hatch open and he packed the family with the baby inside.

"Ok, that'll help," Andi said. "But that's still only three at a time and—"

He darted around to a hatch on the back and hauled out what looked like a bunch of cables. "You know why this was built?"

"It was supposed to be a—a bridging vehicle, wasn't—oh!" Andi watched as he dropped electromagnets to anchor the ropes to the top of the building. "But Todd said he never got it to work."

"Had a free weekend." He pressed a couple buttons on a remote, and the Tumbler revved up, accelerating across the roof until it jumped buildings with a burst of fire. The cables flew behind it, like the tail of a kite…

…And stayed anchored as the fire died and the Tumbler landed on another apartment. Bruce pressed two more buttons and the cables snapped taut, forming a rope bridge.

The others were already up on the roof, now that she looked—Batman must have alerted them as he got out, or they'd come up here to escape the smoke—and he ushered them onto the bridge with brusque efficiency. Two—four—eight of them, plus two of the firefighters, one carrying an elderly man on his back.

"Are there any others?" Andi asked.

"Last firefighter's checking."

"He'll have to figure out the bridge on his own. Get out of there."

"Can't. I have to destroy the bridge now so the Tumbler doesn't go down with the building. Can't leave him stranded."

Andi somehow kept herself from banging her head on the desk. The last of the civilians had made it across by now, but—

"Fine. Stay on the roof. I'll get on his radio, tell him to meet you here. If you wander back in there, there's no way you'll find him in time."

Bruce let the cables release as the last person made it over. Batman would have to carry the fireman down personally. Andi thought of how much muscle the guy probably had and flinched; hopefully the wings would hold them.

"Come in," she said into the radio, and glanced at the firefighter's name on her computer. "Uh, Ash—" A fireman named Ash? Really? "—come in."

No response but static, and then—

"Who is this?"

"Not important. You've got two minutes to get to the roof before the building collapses. Got any civilians with you?"

"No. Floors are evacuated."

"Then get up there."

She clicked off and waited in tense silence with Batman. Without cameras or trackers there was no way to see if Ash would make it, or if he even trusted her message enough to obey; there was nothing to do but wait.

"How precise is the timing?" Batman asked with forty-five seconds left and no sign of the firefighter.

Andi stifled a split-second impulse to lie. "Without knowing what started this, not very, so I played it safe. Todd says he could be as many as six minutes early."

Batman didn't answer and, as the seconds ticked away, Andi didn't try to persuade him to give it up. She knew he wouldn't listen. At least the firemen had made it out in time.

"Five seconds," she said. "Four… three… two… one… You're on borrowed time, here."

Not so much as a twitch. They both stared at the door, waiting, as the building began to shake under them.

One minute over. Two minutes. Andi called Ash's radio again and got no response. What the hell had happened down there?

And then Ash stumbled out, hauling an unconscious, preteen boy over his shoulder. His eyes and the Batman's met, and Andi knew what they were both thinking. No way could Batman get all three of them down.

"Here," Ash said, shoving the boy at Batman. The building buckled at that moment, sent all three of them to the ground.

Batman grabbed the kid in one arm, then reached out and yanked Ash to his feet, the three of them stumbling like drunks to the edge of the roof.

"Batman, you know there's no way…" Andi began, but the building gave a roar like an angry dragon and she cut off.

"Hold on," Batman bellowed at Ash, and for a crazy second, she thought he was going to try and jump, kill all three of them—

—But then he fired his grapple gun at the corner of the building, shoved it into Ash's hands, and pushed him off, swinging on the rope. Batman waited until he was clear, then leaped from the building, spinning as he tried to keep his grip on the kid and the wings at the same time. Andi couldn't see it, not with his eyes focused on trying to fly to safety, but the orange flared around them, there was a sound so loud that her com shut it out, and the building collapsed.

"Shrapnel!" she shouted, but Bruce couldn't hear, of course he couldn't hear, the com was broken, too much noise—

He went from free-fall to glide in a split second, then snapped forward, broke through the windows of the building across from them. A horrible second of skidding and tumbling and he was flat on the ground, kid pinned and protected under him.

The silence was the worst.

Andi knew he was still alive—the camera was moving, and she had the suit monitoring his heart and respiratory rate. But she couldn't hear him, and he couldn't hear her. She didn't know if he realized that, though, if he was trying to call her for help…

Batman finally moved, checked the kid over for injury and left him on the floor of the evacuated apartment he'd broken into. He walked into the hall, eyes darting around like he was looking for something—cameras, most likely—and then he tugged off the mask. Andi saw him rip out the electronics from his earpiece, and put in a new one.

"Oracle? Do you copy?"

"I'm here." For once Andi didn't bother to protest the name. Bottled up relief and adrenaline broke loose, and she realized her hands were shaking on the chair's armrests. How long had it been since she'd breathed?

"Um. You might want to get Ash. Not sure how long he can hold on to the grapple and the others might not know how to pull him up."

Batman didn't answer, but started to move to the top of the building. Andi took the respite to mute her end of the com and take several deep, shuddering breaths. When that wasn't enough, she started to talk him, knowing he couldn't hear her.

"I thought you were going to die," she said in a small voice. "I thought you were… I couldn't have done more if I still had my legs. I know that, but to only be able to sit here, miles away and watch you…"

Her fingers scratched into her legs, whether to find sensation or punish them for being broken, she didn't know. "I hate this. I really, really hate this."

"What's the police scanner say?" Bruce asked. Andi snapped her mouth shut, swallowed, and turned her com back on.

"Let me—let me check."

"Are you—"

"I'm fine, and it's none of your business, thanks," Andi snapped. She paused, listening to the police radio.

"Firemen made it out. Not sure how many people were left in the building, but not many. Fire's spreading to apartments on the other side of the street, but I don't think there's much you can do there—it's under control, the rescue workers can handle it better than you. Oh. Sounds like the others you sent onto the roof have gotten Ash up."

"Time to go, then." He changed direction, pulled open a window on the other side of where the fire was, and prepared to jump.

"The Tumbler? Your grapple?"

"Grapple can self-destruct. Tumbler's autopilot will get her away when I call."

Andi huffed. "All this because you can't take a simple 'thank you.'"

He didn't dignify that with an answer, just soared off with the dark, brooding silence that was as much a part of him as the mask and cape.

* * *

"You did good out there."

"Well. I did _well_ out there."

"Oh, excuse me." Andi rolled her eyes and took another sip of coffee. "Some of us grew up in the Narrows, not with English butlers to correct our grammar."

Bruce gave a slight smile, and they sat in silence for a bit. Sunrise must be just beginning, the earliest tinges of orange hitting the waterfall.

"Think it was Deadshot who did it?" Andi asked.

"I was about to ask you the same question."

Andi shrugged. "Could have been," she said. "But I don't think so. Fox's model of the collapse really makes it look like a ruptured gas leak. For once, you got it easy—people you could save, everyone making it out. Good, old school heroics."

Bruce gave her a sharp look, but Andi knew she'd kept the bitterness out of her voice, and she emptied her coffee cup to avoid letting him see her expression.

"Well," she said. "I should probably get some sleep."

"After all that coffee?"

"Please. With how tired I am, I won't feel a thing." She tried to wheel her chair backwards, and got about two feet before her left wheel wedged in a dip. Andi bit her lip, but before she could make herself ask for help, Bruce had gotten to his feet too.

"Want me to push you to the elevator?" he asked, casual as if he hadn't noticed her trouble.

"Yeah. Thanks." Andi half-twisted in her chair so she could look at him as he went. "We really should smooth out the floors."

"I'll take care of it. Right after the homicidal maniacs are out of my city."

"Oh, so about five years, then?"

"Don't be too optimistic."

Alfred was waiting at the top of the elevator. Andi gave him a slight smile and reached behind her to remove Bruce's hands from her chair. "I'll let you two talk. Alfred, when you get the chance, I'm going to need some help with a skin check and a catheter change."

"You should stay and hear this, Miss."

It was only then that Andi noticed the TV on behind him. Alfred turned toward it too, but shook his head when he saw it was Skeeter reporting and decided to tell them instead.

"They discovered thirteen dead on the rooftop. Shot. Along with fifteen firefighters—all the ones you spoke with."

"Thirteen?" Bruce said. Andi could see that he was thinking the same thing he was: how many had they saved? Had Deadshot killed all—

"Two survivors. An infant on the roof and a young boy in an apartment building ten floors below. Perhaps a sign of mercy? Sparing the young?"

Bruce looked like he was considering it, then shook his head. "No," he said. "Sparing the two who didn't know how much Batman risked to save them. A baby and an unconscious boy. Can't turn me into a hero."

He nodded toward the TV, where Skeeter was trying to push past the paramedics to look at the bodies. "I took the chance to save some people, but that doesn't fit with the narrative Deadshot wanted. So he used the opportunity I left him to pin their deaths on me, and break the city down further at the same time."

"That's not all," Andi said. They both turned to look at her. "The first attacks, we thought he was just discrediting you and JP. But look past what he does to the three of us and focus on the city in general. There's a pattern to who he's attacked. Doctors and nurses, soldiers, firefighters. It's all vital personnel, all killed trying to do their jobs.

"People will be afraid to do their work now, _especially_ the ones that keep Gotham from dissolving into anarchy. He doesn't need to be a flamboyant anarchist like the Joker to make Gotham break. He just has to take out its support structures."

Andi didn't want to say it, but once the thought get into her head, she couldn't make it leave.

"He's crippling the city until it collapses. Just like he did to me."

No one said anything. Andi blinked back tears, thinking of Ash, of that mother who had been so desperate to protect her son, the chief who had been willing to trust the Batman after everything, the other fireman who had known it was a bad idea. Of how Deadshot would have taken them out, one by one. An inescapable, painless, terrifying death. That was what she and Bruce had gotten them.

She looked out the windows. It was earlier than she'd thought; the sun wouldn't rise for another few hours, still. The waterfall had been reflecting fire, not sun.

Bruce put his hand on her shoulder, warm and solid and _there_, and they watched Gotham burn.

* * *

**Author's Note (Part II): **Wow, the response to last week's post was phenomenal! Thanks so much especially to those who've left anonymous reviews/PMs; I can't respond personally to y'all, but hearing your thoughts (good and bad) means a lot.

That being said... and I hate to do this to you guys now, but I'm going to have to delay the next post a bit. I'm starting my pediatrics work and moving apartments next Monday, so the next update will be two weeks from today instead of one week. Not sure yet if I'll be able to get back to the weekly pace after that or if I'm going to keep it at every other week, but I'll keep y'all posted, okay?


	22. Collapse

**Chapter 22:** Collapse

Azrael had expected Gotham to break long before now.

He'd been in deteriorating cities before, outside the States. Places where revolutionaries took over or a bunch of thugs decided to blow things up. When no help was coming and everyone knew it, cities turned into a free-for-all urban wilderness.

Not Gotham. Andi was right—the city was used to this chaos. The same, routine way that Florida prepared for a hurricane or the Midwest for tornadoes, they cleared out the grocery stores of essentials, evacuated when possible, and hunkered down behind locked doors when not. Gangs and looters still tried to go to town, but the police force was intact, and they slowed the damage.

But for all its resiliency, Gotham was folding in on itself. Per its usual "hands off" policy, the President had made a very nice speech and a task force to catch Azrael, but nothing in the way of actual support. Clinics were closed, school canceled, fire and EMS services nonexistent, and yesterday a dozen different trucks shipping in food had been shot up. If Azrael had to guess, he'd say Deadshot would take out the personnel behind electricity, gasoline, or water next, and when that happened it would be game-over for civil order. There was only so much damage the city could take.

Which made it all the more frustrating that he couldn't move twenty feet without getting a dozen federal agents on his ass.

He crouched behind one of the gargoyles in that lined Gotham Cathedral, the overhanging, lead-lined roof shielding him from the view of the helicopter and any imaging it was trying to do. The task force hunting him didn't know where he was right now—they had only narrowed it down to a three block radius. From the way their barricades were set up, they seemed to think he might have slipped through that.

He pulled out his map of the city and shaded another block as off-limits. Every time he moved in certain parts of the city, the Feds were on him in seconds. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure out how Deadshot had done it but then he'd never claimed to be Oracle.

_Don't think about Oracle._ Either she'd survived, or she hadn't, and nothing he could do about it.

Point was, Azrael had figured it out eventually. Deadshot was monitoring this city, most likely using a mesh of cameras and sensors spread across the skyscrapers, and then he either attacked or passed that information on to the Feds. It was how he'd tracked down Azrael at the hospital, and how Azrael had been identified so quickly as a suspect after the veterans had been shot.

Deadshot had a reputation as preternaturally good, but this was above and beyond. When had the man had _time_ to set up something this elaborate? He hadn't had it when Azrael had been with the Order. If he had, he'd have shot Batman without needing to go through Oracle—who he definitely wasn't thinking about—and since then, had been on the run and injured.

Harley and Ivy must be paying him a fortune.

The sound of the helicopter had faded. He snuck another look over the wing of the gargoyle and watched as the last of the Feds finally cleared out. Then he looked at his map again and almost wished he believed enough to send up a prayer. The situation in the city was deteriorating, fast, and Azrael was pinned down. As soon as Deadshot finished collapsing Gotham, he'd been in the wind again. This, tonight, was his last chance.

It had taken patience that went against everything in Azrael's nature, risking capture more times than he cared to think about, but his diagrams and map work had finally paid off. He'd triangulated where most of the cameras must be located and, in a feat of brilliance he doubted even Oracle (_don't think about Oracle_) could match, sketched out a path through the blindspots to a camera. He'd slipped up a bit on the way, got the Feds chasing him, but he was hidden again and back on track. Deadshot wouldn't know Azrael had the camera until it went dark.

The margin of error for this last bit was narrow, though. He'd run stealth operations before, but that was usually with a team at his back. Going lone wolf with the Order had taken months of adjustment. And after he'd had the luxury of support again with Oracle—

_Damn it._

Azrael shoved the map back into the utility belt, pulled his wings close, and set his sights on his target. Precision. He had this.

He dove. Twenty feet straight down, then soaring on an updraft from the road. He braced, collided with the concrete between two windows, and slipped down until he managed to grab a windowsill. Now the real work began. Hanging there, all his weight on his fingertips, he edged his hands sideways across the building's front while his feet dangled against the wall. Hopefully no one looked up. Or out their windows. He was out of sight of the cameras, but that didn't mean random people on the street couldn't see him.

He reached the corner, got his legs under him, and clung there like a tree frog on a branch. The cloak had tangled around his body, and he could feel sweat running in the crevices of the helmet. No wonder femme fatales in movies wore catsuits; Azrael had always laughed at that, but right now the idea of more lightness and agility was tempting. He locked his eyes on a drain pipe across the alley, a solid ten feet away, and launched himself out from the wall. His palms slapped into flimsy metal. It groaned—bent—held.

Azrael swung his legs back and forth, timed his breath with the movement and bunched his muscles. The pipe shrieked with each movement, but he'd come too far now; he had to count on it to hold. In one, fluid movement, he gathered his momentum and _vaulted_ onto the roof.

The drain gave way just behind him, and Azrael spun on instinct. His fingers lashed out, blind, and somehow caught the falling pipe by the very tip. He hauled it up onto the roof with him before stretching his arms, swinging them back and forth. Crazy acrobatics were Wayne's thing, not his. He felt like he was in a video game.

Keeping low, he scuttled along the side of the sloped roof. One window… two… three… he stopped at five and pried it open. The top floor of whatever building this was was an attic, with dust so thick it made the room look gray rather than black, even in the dark. Azrael bent to look at the floor and grinned—sure enough, the dust was marred by a set of footprints, so clear on the ground that they looked like something out of a cartoon. Someone else had been here before him, and their carelessness had led him right to the camera. He followed the prints to the last window on the left.

It was just below him—somewhere. Azrael felt impatience rising up in him, trying to burst free of his armor, but he forced it down. Couldn't afford to screw up now.

Half hanging out of the window, he ran his hands, inch by meticulous inch, over the brickwork, feeling for the camera. It would be small, made to blend with the wall, and if he passed it up he'd risk—

_There_. A brick stuck just a hair too far out of the wall. Ordinarily he'd think it was just a builder's mistake, but the mortar around it was softer, as if it had recently been re-set. Azrael grabbed a putty knife from his belt and chipped away. He heard the faint patter of falling plaster against the wall, then wedged the knife in between the cracks he'd made and levered the brick free.

Moving fast now—no doubt Deadshot could see the camera moving and was sending the task force after him already—Azrael hauled the whole thing back into the attic with him. There was a hole in the middle of the brick, and inside a camera no bigger than his thumb. He pried it loose and paused.

His plan had been to disable the camera, move somewhere else, and examine it. But by the time that happened, he'd have used up half the night. And he needed to move quickly to beat Deadshot.

It was a risk—Azrael knew he was imagining the sirens, but they _were_ coming—but the time for playing it safe was past. He'd have maybe two minutes to figure out where the camera sent its signals, and then start to track it back. If he could lead the Feds straight to Deadshot's nest, even those idiots would figure out the basics. They might not be able to stop the sniper, but Azrael would settle for clearing his own name and dragging Deadshot out of the shadows.

His fingers flew over the equipment, breaking off the case and clipping wires almost on instinct. He'd disposed of bombs, hacked computer signals, broken encryptions for years. This was _his _skill. He attached a modified GPS to one of the wires, watched as its coordinates jumped from cell tower to cell tower and then—

"Gotcha, you son of a bitch."

Gotham's Clocktower. It was in Old City, the same district he was. In fact, he could see it from where he crouched, two blocks away and an easy three stories above him. The hands were stopped and the light behind the face wasn't lit, but it somehow felt like it was alive. Like it was watching him.

The whole thing had taken one minute and thirty seconds.

Azrael tossed the camera and tools on the ground and scrambled out the window he'd just left. He heard the crack of a gun as he hauled himself onto the roof, but it missed him by a solid foot—the Feds, not Deadshot. He sprinted for the next building, made the leap without even bringing his wings out, and whipped around the corner.

No time to shake them off. Deadshot knew he was coming. Azrael sprinted for the Clocktower, hoping against hope that he was right.

Pursuit sounded behind him, and he didn't bother to hide. He swung and leaped from building to building, counting on his speed and agility to stay ahead. He didn't have to stay out there long, just long enough for the Feds to follow him right to Deadshot.

And then, right as he got close enough to climb the Clocktower, they stopped.

Azrael was moving too fast to pause now. For all he knew, it was some kind of ruse or plan to wait for backup. But as he shot the grapple at the corner of the tower, swung wide on his way up, he caught a glimpse of the people below him, on the roofs and streets… walking away.

Not stupid. Corrupt. As soon as Azrael started to get close, Deadshot had somehow called off the search to avoid getting caught.

Fine. Azrael didn't have time to be surprised or reevaluate. He would face Deadshot down himself. He'd been waiting for the chance for years. He smashed through the glass face of the Clocktower at full speed, rolled, came up with a gun in hand—

And found himself facing someone who was _not_ Deadshot.

He was tall. Flaming red hair, big hands, eyes so tight that Azrael doubted he could see where he pointed his gun. It had been almost a year since Azrael had last seen him.

"Daniel Maris?"

"Hey, Az."

Azrael stared at him, trying not to show how thrown he was. Maris was part of the Order of St. Dumas—a former weapons dealer who had joined the Order at the same time Azrael had, mostly to save his skin from Interpol's tightening net. Azrael couldn't put together why he was in Gotham. "I thought it was Deadshot up here."

"Lawton?" Maris said. "You should know better. He doesn't give a shit about you. Never has."

"But the Order does?"

"Did you think that just because you put Deadshot at the top of your hit list we'd leave you alone?"

Yes, Azrael had. Or rather, he hadn't thought about it at all.

He didn't dare take his eyes off Maris, not with a weapon pointed at him, but he focused on his peripheral vision. The place was full of TVs and computer screens, as if it was the center of a newsroom. Or a spy agency. Maris had set this entire thing up to catch him.

"Why not just kill me?" he asked. "Why go to all this work? The Order lose its balls when I left?"

"Questions get asked when the most wanted man in America turns up dead on the streets. Not when he's gunned down by the FBI."

"You infiltrated the entire FBI for me? I'm flattered."

Maris shook his head. "We've had the contacts for years. Incompetent but obedient. I'm surprised you didn't figure out it was the Order just from them. Sure, we passed him information, but Lawton's a loner—you thought he'd pay people to kill for him?"

"No," Azrael said, his temper rising. He remembered those dead soldiers, the ones who had seen too much. How he himself had been manipulated. "That's what the Order does, isn't it?"

"You should know. They paid you often enough."

"They lied. Killed good people and suckered me into joining."

Maris shrugged. "You were an idiot, it's not my problem. I'm just here to clean up the mess you made."

"I can see why they chose you. Scum enough to never turn against them. Incompetent but obedient."

"I didn't join for justice or honor or whatever shit you were always talking up. The Order gives me a paycheck and protection, I give them a service. Not so different from your precious Deadshot."

Azrael felt fury pulse through him, focusing him like nothing else could. It wasn't the technique and training that Wayne had, or Taylor's cool analysis that powered him, it was raw, unrestrained _wrath._ Maris was everything wrong with the Order, everything that made him wonder how he'd ever been fooled. And Azrael had been their sap for years, had killed innocent people on the say-so of people like this.

"Don't flatter yourself," he said. "Deadshot's a lot of things, but he's still better than you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. For starters, he's going to be a lot harder to kill."

Maris's eyes widened, and he fired a split second after Azrael did, but it was already too late. Azrael threw himself to the side, rolled, came up behind a computer console. He poked his head over the edge, trying to get a sight.

But instead of the hail of gunfire he'd expected, there was silence. Maris was in the same place, but now he was on his knees, gasping, one hand held against his chest, even though it was his back that was really soaked in red. His other hand braced against the floor to stay upright, the gun pinned under his palm. Azrael's aim had been better than he expected.

Training kicked in. Maris was down, but as Azrael watched, he turned towards him and tried to straighten. Azrael aimed and shot again, three times.

Maris's body jerked and flopped with each hit, then collapsed. Azrael watched the puddle of blood spread underneath him before he pushed himself up to go check the body.

His arm spasmed and he paused, looking down at it. There was a darker stain against the cloth on his elbow, just under the Kevlar guard protecting it. He hadn't noticed a damn thing.

He checked Maris first—kicked the gun away and made sure there was no pulse on him. He was as dead as he looked, so Azrael stopped to check his wound.

Not bad. A graze; the bullet must have ricocheted off his chest plate and passed his arm on the way. He flexed his fingers, twisted his arm back and forth to make sure he could still move, then ripped a cleanish strip of cloth from Maris's shirt and wrapped it around his elbow. Necessary, but unsanitary. Still, Oracle would—_no._

Azrael stripped Maris's body of weapons and cell phone and looked around the room properly. The cameras were still running, showing heights and angles of Gotham that he'd never seen, even with his wings.

It was progress. The first serious progress he'd been able to make since this whole thing started; it should make him feel proud. Triumphant. Or something. Anything. But the truth was, there was nothing to show for it. Just more dead bodies, the world still going to hell, and him, futile. Again.

* * *

Azrael stayed there the rest of the night.

He hadn't expected Deadshot to show up on the cameras; if he and the Order were in cahoots, they'd have told him where the cameras were and that he needed to avoid them right now. But it felt like surrender to not at least try. He got a glimpse of the Batman a couple of times—once, Wayne even noticed a camera and took it down—but no one else he knew.

What he did see was Gotham.

He'd thought he understood how bad things were from up on top of his skyscraper, but he hadn't. Even running across the city hadn't been able to give him the full scope, because he could only be in one place at a time. But these cameras were stationed everywhere, a thousand eyes looking on the destruction from every possible angle.

Lines of police barricades, squares that had devolved into pitched battleground, empty streets littered with trash bags and broken pavement. Stores and homes gutted by fire. Corpses and wounded that nobody dared go near. There was hardly a place left in the city that was untouched, and those that were were filled with hollow-eyed people sleeping in alleys like refugees. He'd seen bombed out cities in that looked better than Gotham right now.

Maris had been right. Deadshot didn't give a shit about him. Why would he? Azrael wasn't his mission, and now that he was up here, he could see that—hate to admit it though he did—what he'd done tonight wasn't important. Sure, he'd stopped the Order from watching him, probably bought himself some time to work, but that was like a Band-Aid when you'd been shot in the gut.

Azrael shut off and destroyed the computers. The Order's bought-and-paid for task force would come sniffing around soon to see why Maris hadn't checked in. He left the cooled, stiffening body for them to find, a note pinned to the corpse's chest suggesting they get back on the straight and narrow. He didn't care how deranged it would make him sound. Knowing who they worked for, they were fair game if they came close to him again.

He fought despair as he soared away, no longer worrying about cameras or who was watching. It didn't matter what he did. Didn't matter whether he or Wayne or the police tried to make a stand.

Gotham was on its knees.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Uh... hi.

I am SO sorry about the delay. To make a long story short, my old computer basically went up in a cloud of smoke the same time as I moved to a tiny town with no good computer stores for about 100 miles. By the time I got my new one, I'd decided that I wanted to re-write the chapter from scratch and...

This should be the last time it happens, though! I'm leaving my posting schedule as every other week just to be safe, but I do have drafts of the rest of the chapters, so it should be easy enough to keep up.

Thank y'all for being so patient with me (and, for those of you who actually read this far, for putting up with my long-winded excuses). Hope your last days of summer are wrapping up well and that you liked the chapter. We'll be back to Andi and Bruce next chapter!


	23. Sacrifices

**Chapter 23:** Sacrifices

Andi stared through Bruce's eyes at the corpses. A middle-aged electrical engineer, along with her family, each with a single shot through their heads. They'd been eating dinner, killed so fast that no one had even been able to make it up from the table.

"That's it," Andi said. "That's the last of them."

Batman had gotten there as fast as he could. The second the first report on a dead power plant worker had been heard, he and Andi had raced to warn the others, get them into hiding. They'd managed to save half a dozen. Lost the other half.

The worst part, Andi thought, was that this probably counted as a victory. They'd protected six people and their families. That was more than they'd ever managed before.

Batman gently picked up the youngest child, cradled her against his chest, and laid her on the floor, so that her face was out of the food. He covered her with a napkin before Andi could tell what was blood and what was spaghetti sauce.

Yeah. A victory.

"Come on back," Andi said. "There's nothing else you can do."

He blinked, then turned away.

Andi swallowed and forced her eyes away from the screens. No point in staying in the drafty cave if Bruce wasn't in danger any more. Reluctantly, she pushed a buzzer to call Alfred down to help her.

"Bruce is safe," she said as soon as he came in. "We saved half of Deadshot's targets, too."

"Shall I open a champagne bottle?"

"How about a gallon of cheap tequila?" Andi pulled her coms off and scrubbed a hand through her hair. Alfred stepped in to help wheel her away.

"How bad was it, Miss?"

She forced the image of the little girl from her head, locking it in the same dark place she shoved all her trauma. Where it would stay until this was over and she could allow herself to process things again. Her nails raked against her jeans, so hard she thought she might be drawing blood. She didn't care. "Bad enough."

Her chair managed to wedge itself against a two inch ledge in the floor. Neither she nor Alfred could get her over it, and he had to back her up and wheel around it. Andi's fingers gripped into the arms of her wheelchair to keep from screaming her frustration.

"Tell me some good news," she said as they finally made it to the elevator. "I don't care what. Anything at all. Lie if you have to."

"That's not necessary. The parts for modifying your car have come in; I should have them installed by tomorrow. You'll be able to drive again with a little practice."

"Yeah?" Andi tried to muster up interest. "Any idea what car you'll put it on?"

"You could pick for yourself if you like. Some of the smaller sports cars are probably not ideal, but there are several classics that I think we could adjust."

"Does he have any Jeeps? Or trucks?" Andi asked. One of her more outdoorsy aliases, Sophie, had had a Jeep, and Andi had taken to it more than she'd expected. The country, rugged style made her feel like she was outside of Gotham, away from all this.

"I think we can manage that. There are also custom made trucks manufactured with modifications for disabled veterans if you would like."

"I'm not a veteran." If JP heard that one…

"But it's undeniable that you're a soldier. Would you like me to look into it for you?"

Andi only hesitated for a second.

"Let's stay with a modified one. I don't want to order a brand new car on Bruce's dime without at least talking to him. And he's—"

"Behind the idea," Bruce said. Andi twisted around in her chair and saw that—wonder of wonders—he had a tiny smile on his face. It was a strange sight, especially since he still had the suit, if not the helmet, on. "I'll get it here, special order, in a day. You need mobility if worst comes to worst and you need to escape. We'll have Wayne Enterprises donate to Wheels Helping Warriors when this is all over, too."

"Thanks," Andi said. She felt a smile perk up on her lips, then immediately vanish with guilt. She was happy about a _truck_ when that little girl's body hadn't even been discovered yet? "That's really… thanks."

"You need anything else?"

Andi grimaced, trying to hide the dark thoughts rolling around in her head. Bruce had enough to deal with without the knowledge that she was falling apart at the seams. He didn't say much, but she could see the tension in his muscles, the way his eyes darted around the hallway, assessing it for threats. Hyper-awareness; he wasn't wouldn't or couldn't relax, even here.

He had to carry all of Gotham. She couldn't add her weight, too. Instead, she wheeled herself towards their old meeting room to avoid eye contact as Alfred went off to make coffee.

"We need to talk strategy, and you're not gong to like it. Get the door for me?"

Bruce held it open and followed her inside. Andi waited until he'd taken a seat before she spoke. "We need to find JP."

He blew out his breath in a slow whistle. "You know that he killed someone three nights ago."

"We can't afford hypocrisy, Bruce. We knew what JP was capable of when we worked with him before, and it didn't stop us. And you saw what Deadshot just did to that family. JP didn't kill anyone innocent—from all accounts he did the world a favor. But without us to balance him, he will cross that line. We need to head this off or we're going to have another crisis on our hands."

"We don't have that luxury," Bruce said. "No, listen. He was my friend, too. Or ally, at least. I don't want to see him go down this road either. But Deadshot has to be our priority—we can't handle both him and Azrael at once."

"So we don't. We work with JP to stop Deadshot."

"Because that went so well before."

"Things have changed. Look at what Azrael's been doing: making big moves to get attention, not knowing where Deadshot is, or who he's targeted until it's too late. He's tailspinning. Deadshot has slipped his grasp and he knows it. And…" Andi rubbed her numb legs for emphasis, "He doesn't know about this yet. Shock and desperation… he'll listen to me."

"'To _you?'_ Now you want to be the one to meet with the homicidal vigilante? While you're—"

Bruce snapped his mouth shut and looked vaguely guilty.

"You can say it in front of me," Andi snapped. "I know what I am: paralyzed and helpless. And, yes, I should be the one who talks with him. He'll listen to me more easily than you. _Especially _if I'm vulnerable."

To his credit, Bruce paused to think it through. "Say your crazy idea works. Even if Valley listens… he worked with us before, and Deadshot ran circles around us. What makes you think this time will be any different?"

"I have a plan," Andi said. "One that's been brewing for a few days now."

"'A few _days?'_ Why didn't you say something bef—"

"Because it's drastic and puts a lot of people at risk." There was something poisonous writhing inside of Andi's stomach, but she thought of that dead family and made herself say it. "I know how to make Deadshot come to us."

"How?"

Andi opened her mouth, but couldn't force the words out. Bruce's interested expression shifted to concern as he watched her struggle.

"Is it really that bad?"

Before she could answer, Alfred came in with coffee—double shot of espresso in Andi's, decaf for Bruce. Andi savored hers, then paused and turned to Alfred.

"Did you spike this with tequila?"

"There was a recipe for Mexican coffee that I located. I cannot and will not put a worm inside, but…"

The sick knot in Andi's stomach eased just a little, and she gave him a grateful smile. Even more mercifully, Bruce left things alone while she drank it, allowing her to relax and compose herself. Andi tossed down the last sip and gathered her courage just enough to blurt out:

"GCPD. We use them to bait Deadshot."

Bruce stared at her, his expression the closest to horrified Andi had ever seen it. She swallowed and made herself look him in the eye.

"Deadshot's bringing down the city by taking out its infrastructure, right? It's only a matter of time before he goes after the GCPD. If the police rather than that stupid task force find JP, he won't be able to resist. Deadshot would attack them and try to frame JP for it. Or get him killed in the crossfire. And while everyone's busy killing or being killed… you have the chance to take Deadshot down."

Bruce's face hadn't changed. Andi stared down at her empty cup and wished that it had held something stronger.

"JP was right in some ways," she said. "Deadshot won last time because we wouldn't be ruthless the way he is. We can't afford that any more. Gotham will die if we don't take drastic measures."

"And you? What will manipulating something like this do to _you?"_

Andi didn't answer, but she thought Bruce could read it in her face.

"We should never have forced you into this, Andi," he said softly. "I should have sent you off to Tahiti as soon as Deadshot started hunting you."

Andi had expected accusations and arguments, but the compassion in his voice… it was too much. If she flinched, if she let herself soften to it, she would turn back into that terrified, crippled woman in a bunker who wanted nothing more than escape. She couldn't do that. Not if she was going to save Gotham. Not if she wanted to stay whole. She swallowed and made her voice hard.

"Spare me the pity party. Alfred was right: we're soldiers, and this is a war. We have to be realistic. God help me, I'd rather it was anyone else. I'd rather let Deadshot take my arms and breathing too than this. But if this is war, I can't mark you or me or the police or—or Gordon as off-limits."

"Andi—"

"And Deadshot won't either," Andi said. "I don't know why he hasn't attacked the cops yet; maybe he doesn't want to go up against people who are armed and ready, maybe he's saving them until the end to hurt me more. But it won't last. He _will_ attack the GCPD eventually.

"At least this way, we see it coming, do what we can to protect them. And, if it works, we'll save both them and the rest of Gotham."

There was a long silence, and Andi couldn't think of anything to say. She felt like when she'd betrayed Leena and Pam all over again, but a hundred times worse, because this time she'd chosen it with her eyes wide open.

"Alright. We'll do it. But only if Gordon agrees."

Andi nodded and tried to look pleased. She was pretty sure she failed miserably, and Bruce didn't look any better. They both knew what Gordon would say—and that he would insist on putting himself in the line of fire, too.

"You find JP, then," she said, backing up her chair from the table and wheeling herself out of the room. "Don't talk to him, just track him down."

"And you?"

"I'm going to take a shower." _Because that's really going to get me clean after this._ "And then I'm going to figure out how to make a semi-reformed terrorist who hates us listen to me."

* * *

"Good to see you again, Mr. Fox."

"Always a pleasure." Fox looked around the armory, its electricity running off generators, the only working entrance a small set of stairs, then back at Andi in her chair. "Should I ask how you got in?"

"Zip line."

"I… see," Fox said. "What brings you here?"

"Supply order again. I need equipment that will sweep for bugs. And an EMP, small grade—twenty foot radius, with no side effects besides the electronic wipeout, if possible."

Fox nodded and glanced down one row of equipment. "Shouldn't be difficult. I can go get them for you right now if you want?"

"Thanks."

"Help yourself to coffee while I get them for you."

"No problem there." It was just past noon—long past when Andi would normally be asleep if she hadn't needed to make this visit. She wheeled herself over to the coffee machines, grabbed the blend she remembered Fox enjoying before… and then looked up and realized the mugs were in a cabinet above the desk. As far out of reach as if they were on Mars.

"Perfect," Andi muttered. Her lips pressed into the thinnest line they could make as she replaced everything exactly as she found it, then returned to where she'd been sitting before Fox left.

He came back into view two minutes later with several boxes, and glanced at her. "Not thirsty?"

"I'm cutting back on caffeine," Andi said through gritted teeth.

He looked at the coffee maker, back at her, and figured it out. "I'm so sorry. That was thoughtless. Would you like me to—"

"Let's just get this over with," Andi snapped. Fox nodded and handed her a couple of boxes. "I've already printed off instructions on how to use these, but would you like me to demonstrate?"

"It was my spine that got damaged, not my brain. I can still _read, _thank you very much."

"Good to know."

Somehow the casual lack of offense made Andi feel guiltier than if Fox had reacted. She stared at the boxes and the silence stretched longer and longer.

_I don't know which is worse,_ Andi thought. _That I can't do what I used to or that people treat me as if I can't._ Only, Fox hadn't even done that. He'd been nothing but courteous, and Andi had reacted anyway.

_What is wrong with me?_

She had a feeling the answer would fill sever psych textbooks.

"Thank you," Andi finally said. "I… you don't have to help. I appreciate it."

"My pleasure," Fox seemed to hear her unspoken apology, because he gave her a genuine, friendly smile. "You should be careful with the EMP. It will only stop electronics, but if someone nearby has a pacemaker or is in an elevator…"

"Don't worry. Once you leave, the building that I'll be on top of will be unoccupied."

"'On top of?'" Fox's eyebrows raised, and Andi nodded, pointed straight up.

"You've got a guest in Wayne Tower, Mr. Fox. Or, well, on it." She didn't know what JP was thinking, whether he appreciated the irony or it was just strategic. But of all the skyscrapers in all the districts in all of Gotham, he'd set up on Bruce's. "Luckily, you and Mr. Wayne officially shut down work here eight hours ago. Gutsy of you to keep it going as long as it did, but now I need privacy. Besides, I hear Mr. Wayne is sending most of your engineers out to try and get electricity running in Gotham again."

Fox recovered his cool with surprising speed. "Privacy, I can give you. I must say that you have easier requests than Mr. Wayne."

"Yeah, about that…" Andi turned one of the boxes over and over in her hands. Bad enough that she'd been asking favors _before_ her temper had burst out. "I was wondering about one other thing."

"And what would that be?"

"You know how you looked into Harley and Ivy's financials a few weeks ago?"

"I hope it helped."

"Yeah. Yeah, it—" _ended up with me in the wheelchair._ But that hadn't been Fox's fault. The information had been good. "—It was everything I asked for. I was wondering if you could go more in depth with it. Get actual access to the accounts themselves."

"If you need me to. But if you don't mind me saying, we already know what's in there—and it's not as if we need their money. Or as if they won't be able to get more. What's this about?"

"Shot in the dark," Andi said. "I hope I won't need it. But with Deadshot on the rampage, any chance we can take to…"

She stopped and winced, remembering that she wasn't supposed to be saying any of this clearly to Fox. "Um. Thank you for these. I'll see you soon, I hope."

* * *

There was someone on the roof.

Azrael knew as soon as he touched down that there was someone else there; there was something off about the way the air blew, the light shifted. He pulled out his pistol and stayed close to the edge in case he needed to escape.

"I know you're there," he called. "What do you want?"

No answer.

Azrael knew he wasn't being paranoid. He stayed absolutely still, waiting for his visitor to make the first move, ready to fight.

A creak to his left. Azrael spun, finger on the trigger—

And there she was, thinner than before, biker gloves on her hands now, seated in a wheelchair. It was so unnatural, so at odds with the invulnerability Andi embodied, that for a second he couldn't figure out what game she was playing. Why she was sitting in a wheelchair. As if she needed one. And then he felt his throat close, and he relaxed his grip on the gun just a bit.

"Hey, JP."

"Andi."

She looked at the gun with a bit of a smile. "You planning to shoot me? I think there's a line, but I can bump you to the front if you want. For old time's sake."

"Where's your boyfriend?"

_"Bruce_ is on the ground two blocks away, minding his own business. If I send up this flare—" she motioned towards a gun holstered at the side of her chair, "—he'll come, but otherwise we're on our own."

Azrael stared at her, not moving, just long enough for her to get nervous and shift around a bit. Then he slipped the safety back on and put the gun away.

"Let's get you inside," he said, nodding at the tent he'd placed in the middle of the roof. "You don't look very stable right now and it's windy."

She followed him in, able to sit up straight while he had to crouch, and glanced around. "Nice place."

Azrael grunted, unable to tell if she was being sarcastic or not. He'd brought up a tent, a selection of fresh and canned food, and bedroll since he'd gotten here, not to mention his equipment and a dozen apples, and that was more luxury than he'd had for months at a time in his life. For all her toughness, though, he doubted Andi would see it like that. Not when the ground was swaying under them like a drunk and they could both barely fit inside.

There was a bit of awkward silence, then Andi gave him a small smile.

"You can say whatever you like. We're not bugged, and I've got equipment to prove it, if you want."

"Don't bother. I know."

He took a second to relish the look of surprise on Andi's face; it wasn't often that it happened outside of life and death situations.

"How?"

"You said Wayne's name out loud. Wouldn't have done it if anyone was listening. Even him."

"Oops." Andi sighed and looked at the backpack she'd brought. "Damn. I'd brought along a bug sweeper and an EMP to convince you, too."

The quiet fell again.

"What happened?" Azrael finally said.

She didn't ask what he meant.

"Deadshot. About ten minutes after you left. Blew up the street to get me out of the Tumbler and shot me in the back from point blank range." Her voice was even more matter-of-fact than usual. "Complete severance of the spinal cord, T10 level, which basically means I can't feel or move below my belly button. I'm not walking again."

"I'm sorry."

Andi waited just long enough for the inadequacy in Azrael's words to sink in.

"Don't be," she said. "Help me find him. Fix what we can."

"After what happened last time? Why should I trust you?"

"I'm pretty sure I've paid for that." Andi motioned to her wheelchair. She paused, then looked around the tent pointedly. "Pretty sure you have too."

He knew she'd been sarcastic before. JP grabbed an apple from on top of his canned food and bit into it to give himself time to think. Only, he didn't really need the time. Couldn't hurt to hear her out, at least. Didn't get much worse than where he was now.

"What do you have in mind?"

"We use you to bait the police. Use the police to bait Deadshot. You've seen how he's working—Gotham's falling apart, and the police are one of the only units still standing. This will be too good of a chance for him to miss."

"He'll see it coming."

"Probably. He'll think you're setting up a trap for him, for sure. But we can use that."

"How?"

"Deadshot… he thinks he broke me. And since I was the lynchpin of the group, that means there's no way in his mind that you and Bruce will work together again. That gives Batman the chance to take him down while Deadshot's distracted, especially if you both refuse to let him play you against each other this time."

Azrael chewed, considering.

"It's thin. We've attacked before, with better advantages than this, and he still beat us. And if we screw up this time, a lot of innocent people are going to die. And sure, that'll cover up your plan better, 'cause he knows you're squeamish about that kind of thing, but it doesn't change the facts your cop friends and other civilians can die. You willing to risk it?"

He could see the struggle happening on her face, but kept his expression free of judgment. The Order was pure horseshit about a lot of things, but they'd gotten one thing right in his screwed up training: in this kind of life, you had to decide what you were willing to sacrifice. It was about time Andi realized that.

"Yes," she whispered. "I'll risk it."

"Well I won't." Azrael glanced at his apple core, shrugged, and ate that too. "If this goes south, it's me who either dies or loses all chance of getting Deadshot again. Besides, you _are_ squeamish, whether you want to admit it or not. You and Wayne have your rules, and those'll hamstring me. I need to fight my own way."

"I know. That's why I'm sweetening the deal."

Azrael raised an eyebrow.

"There's another reason I didn't want us bugged. Not just to make you feel safe, but…" Azrael watched her twist the GCU ring on her finger and wondered if she knew that she had a tell. Probably. Not much got by her. "But because Bruce cannot know what I'm about to tell you."

"I'm no snitch. Besides, I can't stand the man."

"Fair enough."

The hesitation vanished. She stared him dead in the eyes and Azrael realized that Deadshot hadn't just failed to break her. He'd forged her, tempered and sharpened Andi into someone else, a weapon deadlier than any knife. Oracle. "The odds that we can capture Deadshot are incredibly low. Not permanently, not without him finding a way to break out again. There's only one way a guy like this gets stopped: he dies."

"I've known that for awhile now," Azrael said. "Never needed your permission. And if all you're offering is to turn a blind eye on something you don't have the balls to do…"

"I wasn't talking about permission."

"Yeah? Then what?"

The steel in Oracle's eyes never wavered.

"If you can't pull the trigger, I will."

* * *

**Author's Note: **A-And, yes! JP is back! And we move into our endgame.

Just a couple housekeeping details so that I don't distract from what will (hopefully) be a gee-whiz ending. Posting is probably going to stay at every other week. I DO have a sequel planned, but given what happened with getting Untrusted off the ground, I make no promises. I'm really hoping to get an original story done first, and no telling how long that will take. And there's an Avengers idea that's currently trying to eat my brain. (Speaking of, if anyone wants a sample of either, shoot me a PM or review; I'd love critiques!)

And, finally, thanks to each and every one of you who's read this far! Whether you've reviewed, favorited, followed, or just lurked—hey, no shame, we've all done it—it means the world to me that you've given this crazy story a chance. It's been an honor.


	24. Decisions

**Chapter 24:** Decisions

Andi stared at the phone in her hands. The number was dialed, waiting on her to press the little green button. She grimaced and looked up at Bruce.

"I don't know if I can do this."

He kept his face so empty of expression that she knew he was hiding one. "You don't have to," he said. "Gordon already knows the plan. The only thing this call is for is to give you peace of mind. If you don't want it…"

"Yes. I do. I just…" Andi stared at the phone and shook her head. "I don't know what I want. I… Damn it. I hate feeling like this."

"You only have five minutes left if you're going to call. People are going to notice if he stays in one place too long, and Gordon's office is the only part of the building I can guarantee isn't tapped or bugged."

They'd already had this conversation before at ten minutes, then at eight. She was no closer to a decision, but she _was_ closer to the deadline. Andi scratched at her numb legs and sighed. "Can you give me a minute? I'd rather… do this alone."

She didn't give herself time to think. As soon as Bruce left the room she punched 'dial' and held the phone to her ear.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Commissioner Gordon."

"H-Hi," Andi's breath was hitching in her chest, but her eyes were dry.

"Taylor. I was hoping you'd call."

There was a short silence, one Andi was terrified to break. But she could almost hear a clock ticking down, and if this went wrong, if it _was _her last conversation with Gordon—

Don't think like that.

"I heard… I heard you managed to get that task force out of the city. And that you plan to lead the raid," she said. Because when the last person you trusted might die for you, the thing to do was talk tactics. Obviously.

"Someone came up with a good plan. I wanted to be part of it."

"I hope so. I hope it…" Andi's words choked up, dammed behind others, the ones she'd been worried about bursting out ever since Bruce arranged the call.

"Taylor. It's going to be alright."

That did it.

"No it _won't._ It's a terrible plan and you know it and—why does it have to be _you?_" Andi asked in a rush. "Come on, you know plenty of cops who are corrupt. Why can't you just—just send in them?! Gordon, the city needs you and it needs you alive! You—You have a family, _kids._ You're the closest thing _I_ have to a father, I can't just—you can't—if you die for something I set up—"

"This is my call!" Gordon shouted over her. Andi snapped her mouth shut and realized he'd been trying to interrupt her since she started babbling. "Not yours, Taylor. We need to make this look real. It has to be me. I want it to be me."

"But if you die, it'll be me who—"

"If Deadshot kills me it will be his fault. Not mine. Not yours. You know that."

"But you'll still be dead."

"What do you tell _him_ when _he_ tries to keep you on the sidelines?"

Andi choked mid-protest and knew she'd lost.

"Taylor?"

Still no tears, but Andi's voice was as hoarse and shaky as if she'd been sobbing. "I—I tell him that it's my decision to make. That he needs to—to respect me enough to decide for myself."

She thought Gordon would drive his point home, but he stayed quiet. Andi focused on getting her breathing under control.

"Good luck, Taylor," he finally said. "I'll see you on the other side."

"Gord—"

The line went dead.

* * *

Bruce waited for her in the cave, checking his armor one last time.

It was almost a ritual by now. He went over each individual piece, testing for strength, damage, and function, until his focus contracted to that tiny world. Fear, pain, and loss all sank their hooks into him as he did, and the slow, meditative process dug them deeper. It was like the League of Shadows had taught him: it was only when he embraced his fear that he mastered it.

The sound of Andi's chair squeaking against the rocks made him look up, and it was clear that whatever mindset _she_ needed to be in, she wasn't there. There was a haggard, broken look to her face, and Bruce wondered if he'd done the right thing when he put her in contact Gordon. As soon as she saw him looking, though, her expression snapped to attention, and she wheeled herself over to join him.

"How did it go?" Bruce asked.

"We're still a go." Andi's voice was so very neutral that Bruce knew exactly what had happened. She'd tried to talk Gordon out of it. It hadn't worked.

Bruce tried to think of something to say, but he didn't come up with anything. Maybe that was a good thing. They couldn't risk an emotional conversation half an hour before he left. Much as he wanted to help and comfort Andi, he needed her to focus on their mission. Gotham came first.

It always came first.

"Let's go over the plan," he said.

"We've been over it a dozen times. And even if we do see something to change this time around, we can't contact JP to—"

Bruce walked over to the computer consoles and pulled up a three-dimensional display of the area. "Humor me."

She followed him.

"Alright. Fine. Based on computers and your analysis, we've got ten likely sniping positions, and a dozen other potential ones."

"Where?"

Andi huffed as she pointed them out, her finger flicking across the map. But Bruce saw her expression smooth, her focus drawn from what had been said with Gordon back to Deadshot.

"We can't risk letting you near the area in advance because, if you get seen, it will let Deadshot know what our plan is."

Her voice was steady now. Practical and smooth, as if she was reading an instruction manual aloud. "But the whole point is to make it look like JP's clumsy attempt to get Deadshot's attention. I told him to set things up as if he really were doing that, and that means he's made some of the sniper points inaccessible or blocked their sight lines. That narrows us down to these three likely points and five other possible ones.

"When the police arrive, it's going to be a race against time. Using these different routes—" instead of drawing it out now, Andi clicked a couple of buttons and glowing lines appeared across the maps "—you can get to any of those vantage points within two minutes. The tough part is going to be getting to the right one _before_ he takes out Gordon and his men. We'll have satellite, access to police radios, and whatever audio-visual information you can get me, but the truth is…"

"It's going to be on to me to figure it out."

"Yes."

"Back up plans?"

"Limited. This is an all-or-nothing gamble. But JP has his wings still. If he needs to, he can fly down to either lure the police out of the line of fire or protect them. The thing is, I doubt he'll do that. If he thinks he still has a chance to get Deadshot… well, I wouldn't count on it. You can do the same to protect the police, but from where you are, the fastest way to help anyone is to take out Deadshot. I'm also in contact with Gordon, and if need be, I can direct him into Wayne Tower's armory. Obviously that's a last resort, but—"

"Keeping them alive is worth more than my identity."

"Yes. Plus it can only be accessed from Fox's office. They'd have to be on the top floor for it to be any use." Andi closed the map and turned to him.

"I should go with you."

Bruce had been expecting this; they'd argued about it several times in the last twenty-four hours. "You can't."

"It's my plan. It's not fair that I should be the one kept safe. And I can do everything on the scene that I can do here. Just because I'm a paraplegic doesn't mean that I have to be protected."

"I'm not protecting you because you have a broken spine." Bruce said. "I need you safe for strategy reasons. If this goes all wrong, if none of us make it out, Gotham will need you. You—"

"Don't try to make some sort of job up to make me feel important, Bruce. I don't need your pity."

"You think this is _pity?"_

The incredulity in his voice broke through. She studied him and absorbed just how serious he was. "Then what is it?"

"If we're gone, it'll be down to you to defend Gotham. You'll have to stop Deadshot alone. And Harley and Ivy when they come."

"How?" she snorted. "Dress Alfred up in your old suit?"

"If I know you, you'll come up with something much more diabolical than that." Bruce smiled grimly, but then his expression became dead serious. "Andi? Do you understand what I'm trusting you with? I need you to protect Gotham if Batman dies."

Her eyes widened, and she settled back in her chair as if she wanted to edge away. She seemed impossibly small, like a child told to bench press a car, and Bruce wanted to take it back, but he couldn't—there was no one else. Gotham would always come first.

"I swear."

The words sounded odd coming out of Andi's mouth. Old fashioned; archaic even. But there was nothing old or weak about the tone in her voice, the cold strength behind every word. "Gotham won't break. Not on my watch."

"Good." Bruce checked his watch. "I need to get ready. You should go ahead and get comfortable. Make sure everything's set up on your end."

"Bruce."

"Yes?"

She looked like she was struggling to say something, and Bruce was almost sure he knew what, couldn't decide if he wanted her to say it or not.

But she shut her mouth, shook her head, and the moment passed.

"Don't—Don't think that means you can just die out there," she said. "I'll protect Gotham, but you damn well better come back for it."

"I plan to."

"Don't plan to. Do it."

The same words Andi had just fought got stuck somewhere between Bruce's throat and his lips. He couldn't tell if he was fighting to push them out or swallow them back.

"I will."

* * *

Azrael was setting the trap when he spotted Deadshot.

It wasn't much of a sighting—a glint of light that flashed off a rifle scope across the street and three floors above him—but it took every hard-earned instinct he had not to spin around and stare at the glimpse of dark hair and bright light he'd caught. Even harder to persuade himself he couldn't just casually turn and catch a glimpse. Deadshot knew him too well; Azrael had no doubt that even the most innocent look would catch his attention.

Instead, he continued on exactly as he had been, making a careful, cautious circle on the sidewalk around Wayne Tower, as if he didn't notice the new traffic camera angles at the corner, giving the police a three-second glimpse of his face. If Gordon was as good as Oracle claimed, that was all he'd need.

That done, he slipped back into Wayne Tower through a service entrance and began to cover the inside with a bit more gusto, checking that all civilians were gone, the electricity disabled, the stashes of weapons exactly where he'd left them. Fox had been there this morning, but doubtless he'd been warned by Wayne and Andi to stay away and keep the building evacuated. The place was eerily empty, even with Gotham as bad off as it was. Azrael went through the motions of checking, his mind churning the whole time.

Deadshot was already here. Azrael and Oracle had discussed the possibility and, while it wasn't one they liked, they'd also accepted it might happen. If they were lucky, he only thought that Azrael was going to lure the police in another desperate bid for attention. It might mean that Deadshot was playing right into their hands.

It might mean that he'd figured out everything.

Azrael's hand brushed against the transmitter Oracle had left him, clipped securely in his pocket. He wasn't supposed to use it until the trap had been sprung, not unless there was an emergency and he needed to abort the mission. If Deadshot already knew what was going on, warning them could save Batman's life, not to mention the police involved. If Deadshot didn't know, Azrael's warning would only tip their hand and lose them their shot.

Andi in a wheelchair. Wayne bleeding out from Deadshot's sniper shot. Greeley and Anselm, soldiers' funerals, the hospital shooting, Maris in the clocktower.

His hand had tightened around the transmitter without him realizing it. Azrael glanced down and forced it to relax. All those people on his conscience. Maybe that should make him more wary, eager to save who he could, but Azrael had never been good at doing what he _should_. Oracle was right. All the people Deadshot had killed, the hell he was putting this city through… Azrael had had enough. And even if he called Oracle, he knew what she would say—that if there was the slightest chance to stop him, they had to take it.

It had to end.


	25. Oracle

**Chapter 25:** Oracle

The worst part was the silence.

Batman worked alone. Always had. But he'd adjusted to Oracle's voice in his ear, her eyes watching through his. She was faking transmissions with him to a different part of the city now, on the very slim chance Deadshot was still monitoring them, and it disoriented him. He'd begun to depend on her.

_Depend. _Batman exhaled just a bit harder than necessary and returned to staring at the different vehicles and pedestrians in the area. Oracle had her mission. He had his. He needed to do it.

The police radio came through his com. Gordon had managed to get the task force suspended, and now he used coded messages to tell his own teams, Gotham's finest officers, to move in. On schedule—8:17 PM. Seven minutes until SWAT arrived, and no sign of Deadshot. Either he was waiting until the chaos to attack, or he'd come before Batman had and was set up and waiting. Either way, he had a plan.

* * *

"Master Wayne gave strict instructions about this, Miss."

"Maybe you misunderstood them."

"I believe his exact words were: 'Under no circumstance is Taylor allowed to leave the manor.'"

Damn it.

"Look," Andi said, voice as reasonable as she knew how to make it. "I don't want to leave. I don't plan to. The only way I'll even think about it is if I _know_ I can stop Deadshot, _and_ there's no other way. But if that happens, I need to be ready. I can do everything from my truck just as well as the cave, and I swear I won't leave the Manor unless there's no other choice."

"I can't allow that."

Andi glared at Alfred and wondered if she could roll over him with her chair. Doubtful.

"Bruce told you what I'm supposed to do if he dies," she said quietly. Alfred flinched, and Andi wanted to too, but she was too short on time to be afraid. "If I leave, it won't be because I'm on some stupid heroism bender, I'll be making good on that promise. And I like you Alfred. I'm not exaggerating when I say you've saved my life in recovery. But don't you _dare_ stop me from protecting Gotham. Not when you and I might be the only ones left to do it if this goes south."

The pain in Alfred's eyes mirrored her own, and she knew they were both imagining the same thing. A world where only they were left, fighting and grieving together. He glanced away and gave a short, sharp nod. "On second thought, I may have misunderstood Master Wayne's instructions. May I escort you to your truck?"

Andi gave him a quick, hard smile. "Please."

* * *

Azrael gave Gordon credit: he knew what he was doing. Even prepared, even knowing how and when GCPD would respond, Azrael couldn't tell where SWAT was.

He'd positioned himself two floors from the top of Wayne Tower—staying on the roof was begging for a chopper—and had half an eye on the cameras throughout the building, the other half on the streets below him. Sweat drenched his back and face, the building's heat turned on to confuse IR imaging, and the only sound was Azrael's heart pounding in his own ears.

Lights flared across the street. Azrael whipped around and saw a police sniper one skyscraper away, on the same floor as him, his left foot still on the pressure pad Azrael had installed.

For a surreal, impossible moment, the two of them stared straight at each other from across the street, eyes locked. Then the policeman lifted his foot, the lights went out, and Azrael flung himself backward.

Three bullets landed where he'd just been. Azrael skidded under a conference table, then dove behind the barricades he'd set up. He had a split-second glimpse of the monitors showing the police moving in at the bottom of Wayne Tower, and then the power cut. His breath was coming out in gasps, but he recovered from the shock while the barricade was still being showered with the first round of rifle fire.

The police knew where he was. And now they knew he was waiting for them.

He could hold out here. It was the smart tactical move. He was covered from bullets, wearing night vision goggles, and he had a mask slung at his belt if they tried to gas him out. But Deadshot was going to strike, and when he did, Azrael needed to be closer to the action. Closer to the police.

"Count of three," he muttered to himself, grabbing the weapons he'd need. "One—two—_now."_

The smoke grenade he threw filled the entire room and, under its cover, Azrael ducked low and ran for the opposite wall. Stairs were too slow, too easy a target; he forced the elevator doors open, shot the grapple off and plummeted down four stories before the line caught.

He swung himself to one side, wedged himself into the metal scaffolding, and hung there, panting. Then, he stuck the grapple again and lowered himself another four floors, going down the building in leaps and bounds. The police would be at about the sixth and eighth stories by now, maybe up to ten by the time he got down there.

He pulled the doors open again at the fourteenth floor, high enough to give himself time to prepare. But by the time he heard the cops, two floors below, his instincts were crawling, radiating off him like the heat.

That time he'd been gone, hidden in the elevator, should have been the perfect time for Deadshot to strike. Police were easy targets, no way to prove Azrael wasn't the one doing it. But there was still no sound and SWAT was getting closer. Azrael gritted his teeth and squared his shoulders. He was too much of a survivor not to see when something was wrong.

* * *

Batman watched the police swarm up the stairs and Azrael ready himself. No sign of Deadshot, and if the attack didn't happen soon, Azrael and the GCPD would fight. He wouldn't put it past Azrael to kill to defend himself. Wouldn't put it past Deadshot for that whole devastation to be his plan.

But Deadshot _was_ here. If Oracle was right and Azrael didn't kill, Lawton would. Patience.

SWAT didn't code their plans now. Gordon directed the snipers lower, the ground forces higher up, the two choppers to remain on standby.

The police attacked. Batman heard bullets, shouts, curses, and water spraying in the background like white noise—the sprinklers had gone off.

And then silence, followed by screams. Batman grabbed his binoculars and started to check vantage points. _Deadshot._

No. Something was wrong. The response to Deadshot should be gunshots, Gordon's men turning to face a new attacker, barking orders, pandemonium. Not screams. He looked down.

Azrael stood in a spray of fog. Everyone else was on the ground, wrapped tight into themselves. Deadshot hadn't needed to shoot at all. He'd been one step ahead the whole time, set up a trap in the heart of Wayne Enterprises itself.

The sprinklers.

"Oracle."

"Did it work?" Andi asked, grabbing the com as if that would make Bruce come closer. "Do you have him?"

"Deadshot isn't sniping—he filled the sprinklers with some kind of toxin."

"Damn." Andi swore under her breath. "I'm guessing Azrael has his gas mask?"

"Yes."

"It's brilliant. Evil, but—"

"Oracle."

"I'm so stupid. We assumed he would snipe because that's what he _does_, but it's the perfect frame job. It still looks like Azrael did it, takes out the police, and doesn't tell us where Deadshot is. He doesn't have to be close to set it off."

"He's close, or was an hour ago." A new voice joined the conversation—distorted, but not the way Batman's was. As if it was being spoken through a mask. "I saw him when I set up for tonight. Don't know if he's moved since then."

"Azrael?"

"Still alive."

"And Gordon? Is he—no." Gotham, all of Gotham about to collapse unless they could salvage this. Gordon dying, and she couldn't do a damn thing to save him. "Don't have time for that. Azrael, is the whole building doing this or just your floor?"

"My floor and everything below."

"He didn't just wait and hope the sprinklers got set off at the right time. He detonated them. That means he's still close and sent a signal."

"Oracle?"

"He's not the only one who can trace transmissions back to their source. Ever since he used that trick on us, I've been learning to triangulate—_there._ It came from GothCorp's skyscraper."

"That's where I saw him," JP growled. "Fifty-second floor."

"On it."

Andi glanced at Bruce's eye screen—showing up now that he'd opened communications—and saw that he was already flying in that direction. She mapped out the best route on the computer and groaned.

Deadshot had chosen the place dead opposite of all their sniping targets, putting every possible building and obstacle in their way. Bruce could fly across Gotham in an hour, but to reach that particular spot without getting hit by Deadshot's bullets would take at least ten minutes. The location was too perfect to be coincidence.

"He knows you're coming," Andi said. Batman grunted.

"I'm heading there too."

"Azrael…" Andi couldn't keep the plea out of her voice. "Just tell me. The police. Are they—"

"FUBAR. But alive."

Andi bit down hard on her hand to stifle her emotion. She couldn't ask him to stay. Couldn't ask him to save them, not when they all knew this had fallen apart, that Batman needed all the help he could get to stop Deadshot. It was all going wrong, Gordon and the police dying, Deadshot waiting for them, but this was their last chance and they couldn't turn back from it. No matter how slim the odds were, no matter if it meant Gordon had to die for it, Bruce and JP had to try.

It was going to end with everyone she loved dead. She knew that with a clinical, detached certainty. And she was going to listen to it happen, deserved every minute of pain because it was her stupid plan, her arrogance that—

Her phone rang. Andi tore her gaze from Bruce's flight to look at the caller ID, then muted all her coms to answer and started her truck. "Fox."

* * *

The screams had stopped now. Gordon and his men were on the ground and twitching. No blood, no coughing, just seizures and twitches and pleas for mercy, for it to _stop_ that were so much worse than anything else. Azrael's mouth twisted under the mask. "Don't ask me for this, Oracle."

No answer. Azrael had to get out of here, had to get to Deadshot. He was closer than Batman, more ready to kill—and looking at the men on the ground said it stronger than ever. Deadshot needed to die.

Three SWAT snipers and two helicopters all waiting for him to move. Thinking that he'd just killed all their friends, and he'd have to fly or walk across an open street to reach Deadshot. He'd never make it. And if they looked at anything besides him, saw where he was heading or who else was out there, they'd see Batman and probably fire on him, too.

Azrael stared at the cops.

_"Damn_ it."

* * *

"Oracle? Oracle, come in."

No response. Azrael's voice crackled on the line instead.

"Can't reach you to help. Evacuating the cops. You're on your own."

As Deadshot intended, no doubt.

"Get Copper out first."

"Tried," Azrael said. "But he's halfway conscious. Ordered me to get his other men out before him."

"Doesn't matter."

"Does. He's doing his duty."

Batman almost argued, but there was no time. He touched down on a roof and took a running leap to gain speed and altitude. Five minutes gone, another five to get there. Azrael out. Oracle not responding.

Ignore everything else. Deadshot. Had to get Deadshot.

Three minutes later, he was on top of another building, in sight of GothCorp's tower. He expected Deadshot to be long gone, but he stood at the window, looking straight at Batman, weaponless.

It was a trap. He knew that. But there were no other options. Batman launched himself forward, through the window, and onto Deadshot. Even tackled to the ground, his mask knocked away, the assassin kept the same detached, professional expression.

"Pleasure to see you again."

Batman smashed his fist so hard into Deadshot's ruined face that his head bounced off the ground, the scope on his eye smashed. He gasped in pain, glass and metal embedded in his skin, while Batman frisked him for weapons. Nothing. Just a sniper rifle in the corner, out of reach.

"What did you give them?" Batman demanded, dragging Deadshot up by his shoulders. He'd recovered from the pain already and his speech was perfect, measured calm.

"A neurotoxin. Poison Ivy's own creation. It's a masterful strike, but it's not mine. All the credit for this attack goes to them. They planned everything from the toxin to my capture."

"And you obeyed."

"You have your code, I have mine," he said. "They ordered me to let you take me. Unconditional surrender. If you take me in I'll admit everything."

"What's the catch?"

"The toxin is very precise. There's no cure, but it takes thirty minutes before permanent damage. Thirty-five before death. I would say that, at this point, it's been… fifteen minutes. Mr. Valley's heroics are surprising but futile. He can't evacuate them all in time."

Batman saw where it was going. The Joker had given him the same choice. His hands loosened but Deadshot didn't move.

"You have three options. Let me go and save most of them, but allow me to continue killing. Break your code, kill me, and save them. Or bring me in and let them die. But if you do that then Gotham will weaken so much, be so destroyed by the loss of the police, the last heroes standing, that…"

"Chaos," Batman growled.

"Even if I'm captured, Gotham will be ready for Doctors Quinzel and Isley to do their work. You can't stop it."

Batman seized him around the neck. "Or I break your spine, paralyze you, and go save them."

"You can. It doesn't matter. You still won't have time to save them all, and my work in Gotham is done."

The elevator pinged.

The noise was so surreal, so out of anything either had predicted, that both Batman and Deadshot turned to stare at it. Deadshot's expression gave nothing away, his muscles were tight, ready to fight. He was as startled as Batman.

Oracle wheeled herself out.

* * *

Azrael pushed another person out the door, then turned and sprinted up the stairs. He ignored the muscles torn from strain, the way his mask didn't give him enough air. The fires in his calf and thigh where bullets from snipers had grazed him. He'd ditched his armor, transmitter, and all but one pistol, to lighten the load.

Five left. Five.

Their movements were getting slower now, coherency gone. The commissioner had held out the longest, but he'd finally gone under too.

Azrael tried to pick up another man, and that was when his body decided that it had had enough.

He sank to his knees and barely kept the man under him from smashing into the ground. He tried hauling him up again, but his arms shook and his fingers refused to grip. Azrael braced himself on his hands instead, breathing raggedly through the mask, and found himself staring at Gordon.

No help was coming. Wayne was occupied with Deadshot, Andi crippled. If the police hadn't sent back-up by now, they weren't going to. These men were going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. Like so many others, so many he couldn't save. All dead because of him, and what had he done, what had he _ever_ done to make it right? One long fuck up from start to finish, that was all he'd ever been.

Azrael crawled forward, inch by painstaking inch, until he was at Gordon's shoulder. He placed his mask on Gordon's face, made sure that it was strapped on tight. Exhausted as he was, he still held out for over a minute.

And then he breathed.

* * *

"Batman. Drop him."

Batman just tightened his grip, but Andi arched her eyebrows and stared him down. _Bruce, trust me._

Deadshot fell to the ground.

So many things to say, to plan, but Andi could hear every second ticking away, counting down Gordon's life. She didn't let herself look at Batman; she couldn't afford the distraction. Instead, she met Deadshot's one good eye. For the first time since her spine had broken, she felt something akin to peace.

"Save them," she said. "You and Batman both."

"Ms. Taylor, I shot you in the spine, not the head. Tell me that you haven't lost that as well."

"Oracle," Andi snapped, stung despite herself. "'Ms. Taylor' died in an alley, shot by a psychopath. She was terrified and alone and there was no one to save her. I'm not that woman any more."

No. No time. Not if she wanted to save Gordon.

"I know how you work. Whoever hires you becomes your God," she said. "So I tracked down Harley and Ivy's financials. I found the fund they owe you."

"You froze it." Deadshot stared at her, and Andi could swear she saw a flicker of respect under the scars. "Meaning there's no reason for me to continue killing."

"No. That would make things too easy for you. Leave you free to kill for someone else, and I won't allow that. I will _never_ allow that."

She paused to pull a phone out of her pocket, opened the right screen.

"So I transferred their money into my newly-created Swiss bank account. And then I sent _my_ money to you."

She tossed the cell, covered with routing numbers and Fox's accountant magic into Deadshot's lap. He caught it, and the blank expression on his face was gone, replaced with stunned horror.

Andi remembered her face ground into the pavement, the pain in her legs that was the last thing they'd ever feel. Gordon there for her when she woke up, fighting for her when no one else would. Protecting her, caring for her.

"_I_ own you now, not Harley and Ivy. So save Gotham. Starting with my father."

* * *

The first thing Azrael was aware of was cold.

Then spasms. His arms were jerking back and forth like a marionette's, his legs even worse. He remembered the gas, the splitting headache it had caused, and now… fresh air. The police lying next to him outside Wayne Tower. Alive. Safe.

"You want me to turn myself in."

He knew that voice. Azrael twisted his head around, and maybe his sight had gone wrong, but he could swear he saw Deadshot, not ten feet away, standing in front of Oracle.

"Yes," she said—and it was definitely her voice, colder than Azrael had ever heard it. "I paid you in full for today's work. Now I'm giving you three times the daily rate Harley and Ivy promised, and in return you go to jail, you stay there, and you're on my contract for the rest of our lives. If anyone else tries to hire you, you're on my payroll already. You can't walk out on that without breaking your code."

"Unless they steal your money."

"They won't. Believe me, I will be burying the information on how I did _that_ very deep indeed. And you aren't going to tell anyone how I hired you either, understand? Not directly or 'dropping' information so someone can find it."

Azrael focused on moving his arms, flexing his fingers. The spasms were slowing the more he breathed, and he realized that, with a great effort, he could suppress them. Slowly, painstakingly, he forced his hand towards his gun.

Batman, standing at Oracle's shoulder, said something he couldn't hear.

"I will _not_," she said to Batman. "Whatever Deadshot just did for us, he's evil and dangerous. I won't leave him running loose, where he can find a way out of our deal. Not even if he's 'helping' Gotham. Now, if you don't mind…"

His hand closed around the gun at his back, still seizing.

"…I'm going to talk with Deadshot alone. There are a few details I need to speak with him privately about. I know you don't like this, but it's—it's the best option we have right now."

No. It wasn't. Azrael lined up the sights as best he could and, with the last bit of focus he had, forced the tremors across his entire arm to stop.

Pulled the trigger.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue:** Consume

Ivy stopped dead and drew her gun.

The lab was trashed. Biohazard suits shredded, tables overturned, animal cages open, her glassware and chemicals smashed and spilled over the floor in a toxic sea.

Had the FBI raided? One of her lab subjects escaped? No—for all the chaos, her plants were vanished, not smashed. Like the person wanted to provoke her but knew which line not to cross.

Ivy put down her pistol.

"HARLEY!"

No answer. A couple of mice were scampering around, so nothing toxic had been released. Ivy strode through the mess to look at the damage. Most of her lab animals were dead, the electronics ruined. It looked like Harley had tried to use the centrifuge as a blender. The foot pedals to the sink had been weighted down with spare terra cotta pots, and the basin was so clogged with sludge that it overflowed. Ivy kicked the pots away, then turned at the sound of a crash coming from the greenhouse.

Harley was standing inside, kicking through the glass walls, one foot bare and bloody. She turned around as Ivy walked in and gave her an ear-to-ear grin. It did nothing to help Ivy's towering temper.

"Heya, Red!"

"Harley. What are you doing?"

"Celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

"Oh. Uh…" Harley's manic grin faded just a little bit as she took in Ivy's expression. "Don't worry about your plants. I moved them. And all the experiments you're still working on. This was just the stuff you, uh, wouldn't take with you, you know? So I figured I'd have a good time with it."

She scuffed her feet on the floor like a guilty child, then caught sight of a mouse and pounced after it. Ivy expected the animal to get away, but instead Harley stamped hard with the foot that had a shoe on, and there were agonized squeaks.

"Harley. Put that thing out of its misery."

"Fine." Harley stamped again, then looked at the bottom of her shoe. "Ew."

Ivy rolled her eyes. "So. What are we celebrating?"

"Our move of course!"

Ivy felt her heart sink. "Move?"

"Come _on_, Red. You remember." Harley went back to kicking out the greenhouse's glass with her injured foot. "Now that Deadshot's done we're going back to Gotham. You _promised."_

There was silence.

_Andi, why didn't you run?_ But Ivy knew why. Harley had her madness. Ivy had her obsessions. And Andi had her ideals. Changing any of them, stopping the collision course they were on, was more than Ivy could do. Maybe this—Harley against Oracle—was how things were always going to end. And right now, she wanted nothing more than to stand aside, to escape the choice that she knew was coming for her: Harley? Or Oracle?

But if she stayed here, Harley was going to leave without her. The only chance Ivy had to see her safe—to see _both_ of her friends safe—was to agree. Maybe, just maybe, if she could play her cards right, she'd keep them from each other's throats. Wouldn't have to choose.

"You better have shipped my plants the right way. If I see so much as a broken stem, I'm holding you responsible."

The big, sloppy grin Harley gave her was almost enough to make it worth it.

"Thanks, Red! Oh, you're going to like the things I've got planned. I've got _big_ ideas for the…"

There was more, but Ivy didn't hear it. She stared at the mess of fur and bones smeared on the floor, the shards of broken glass, the bloody cuts on the bottom of Harley's one bare foot.

Gotham.

* * *

Andi was getting better at steering; she managed to wheel herself through JP's door in one go instead of having to back up and try again three or four times. He was bent over a knapsack, but looked up when she came in.

"It was weird having you back in the Manor," she said. "And now you're leaving again, two weeks later, and that's weirder."

"Yeah, well, no offense, but I'm glad to be going," he said, zipping the set of fake IDs he'd been sorting into a pocket in his bag. "Wayne's taken all my guns, and I don't care how much you like Pennyworth, I still think he's a pompous, self-righteous—"

"You just don't like him because he's British."

"That's what I said."

He gave her that same roguish grin that had first made Andi date him, way back when he'd only been JP and she'd only been Barbara, and she couldn't help herself. She grinned right back.

"Are you sure you have to go?"

He shook his head. "What, are you getting sentimental? You know it's suicide for me to stay in the US."

"I could finagle… something. You saved Gordon's life, and he and I owe you for that."

"How is he, by the way?"

"Recovering. Slower than you did, but no permanent damage. And he remembers what you did for him, as does most of the SWAT team. They'd stand up for you. I could fake evidence, clear your name…"

JP's snort cut across her wild planning. "You're good, Andi, but with Deadshot, uh, dead and shot…" He paused, as if to check that she'd gotten the joke. Andi just raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. "There's no one else to take the blame. Unless you want your boyfriend to shoulder all of it."

Andi thought she showed commendable restraint to not comment on that.

"Besides," JP said, his grin slowly fading. "Let's be honest for once, Andi. You don't want me around. Not really."

The silence stretched for so long that JP eventually turned back to his packing. Andi searched his face for any sign of—she didn't know. Guilt? Satisfaction? There wasn't anything except the same old JP.

"You didn't have to kill him," she finally said. "I know that was what we agreed. But… I had already stopped him. It was over."

JP stopped midway through pulling on his socks and gave her a serious look. "He would have found a way out. I heard you trying to close loopholes right before I did it. Sooner or later, he would have found one you missed."

Andi was quiet.

"Don't pretend you didn't know it. What was your plan, Andi? Put him on the shelf and just hope he stayed there? Or…" He trailed off, studying her. "Was it more sinister than that?

"What was your plan after you got Deadshot alone? Order him to stay still while you shot him? Or keep your hands clean and tell him to kill himself?"

This silence was even longer, and JP didn't look away from her this time.

"I don't know," Andi whispered. "I thought about it. Both of those options. I don't know if I could have gone through with it."

"You should be thanking me." JP lifted the bag onto his back, and Andi realized that that meant he was done—ready to go. "If you'd done it, you would have hated yourself. I promise you, I'm not losing any sleep over it."

Andi couldn't think of anything to say to that, so instead she shoved the bleak mood aside and smiled at him. "Let me walk you out."

He followed her, but as they went down the hall, Andi noticed him give her a sidelong look. _"Walk_ me out?"

She surprised herself by laughing.

Their companionable silence lasted until he reached the front door. The sun was shining, warm and pleasant, and a nice, anonymous Hyundai sat waiting in the drive. JP paused and turned to her.

"I know I joke about it a lot, but I mean it this time. You should talk to Wayne. I don't know what it is you see in him, but… I think he'd be good for you. And after everything, you deserve to be happy."

Andi managed to cover her shock and laughed, shook her head. "What, are you getting sentimental?"

"Maybe. You still should, though." He gave her an assessing look, then smirked. "And by 'talk to,' I mean 'sleep with.' Just in case you couldn't figure out what—"

"You made yourself perfectly clear, thanks."

JP grinned.

They stayed like that, staring at the car and the road away from Wayne Manor for a minute. Finally, JP sighed and turned to her.

"I guess this is goodbye, then."

Andi didn't know what to say, so she stuck out her hand instead. JP surprised her by taking it in both of his, and Andi felt her eyes go hot and itchy as she looked at him. Despite Deadshot, despite everything before that—she would miss him.

"Goodbye, Andi."

"Goodbye."

He made it halfway down the steps, and then the words Andi had been trying to hold back burst free.

"Maybe I should thank you. But I don't know if I can."

JP turned back so fast that Andi knew he'd been waiting for her to say something, but then he stood there, trying to think of a response.

"You got lucky," he finally said. "Someone needed to kill him and I took the choice out of your hands. But I'm leaving, Andi. I can't save your ass again. Next time…"

"It's on me."

"You need to decide where your line is. Because Harley and Ivy are coming for you. And when they do, you need to know exactly how far you'll go to stop them."

Andi couldn't think of anything to say, so she just nodded. JP nodded too and headed to the car.

"Stay in touch," he called over his shoulder.

"Stay in—you don't have a phone! Or an address!"

JP grinned up at her, slung his bag into the passenger seat. "You'll figure something out."

* * *

Andi found Bruce installing the computers on a new platform, right in the middle of the cave's pool.

"What do you think?" he asked as she joined him. "Smooth, wide track from the elevators down to here. And the desk is set at the right height for your chair."

Andi pulled her mind away from JP, from Harley and Ivy and having to kill, and smiled at him. "The ADA would be proud."

"I'm thinking about making it sink down into the water. That way I can still have the entire cave available when you're not down here."

"Won't that make the surface too slippery for my wheels?"

"Not with this material." He knelt down to rub his hand on the stone. "It's got the texture of sandpaper to give you maximum friction. A bit harder to push through, but it means you'll have a solid grip, even in the damp."

"You really thought of everything." Andi gave him a smile and they locked eyes. With Bruce kneeling, they were at the same height for once. And he was only a foot away—

She kissed him.

No hesitation. No warning. No looking back. She could smell the sweat and dirt on him, but his lips were soft under hers and the tension in his back melted when she put her hands around his neck.

It didn't last. Bruce was too wary, self-controlled, to just lose himself in the moment. He pulled away from her, like she'd known he would, and gave her a confused look. But he didn't stand and put himself completely out of reach. She took that as a positive sign.

"What are you doing, Andi?"

"Making a choice."

"What choice?"

"We're on borrowed time," Andi said. "Sure, we stopped Deadshot, but Harley and Ivy got what they wanted. Gotham softened up and me disabled. That means they're going to come back. Soon." And this time, the choice to kill or not would be entirely hers. "Things are about to change, and not for the better. I don't want… I don't want regrets."

Bruce's expression shifted, gentled. "I get it. Don't worry. We'll figure out some way to—"

"No we won't," Andi said. "Not right now. This isn't about defeating them. It's about me. And you. And choice."

He looked like he was about to stand up, so Andi gripped him by the shoulders. She leaned her face in, as close to him as she could get and still meet his eyes. Her words came out in a rasp. "Forget putting me first. Forget what I deserve. I'd rather have what I can, while I can, than nothing at all."

"Andi, are you—"

They were less than an inch apart. Desperate to shut him up, to keep him from pulling away, Andi closed the gap, and it was like a spark on frozen fingers. The pain broke through the numbness and despair, quickened her as it burned.

It took him a split second to ignite, and then his restraint broke and he pulled her straight out of her chair and held her to him, so desperate that he was almost rough, and then there was no hesitation, no questions or self-control for either of them. The fire spread over her whole body, flames trailing everywhere he touched, engulfing her face, her hair, her shoulders and wrists and back, delving deep inside as he kissed her, consuming the fear and loss and anguish.

It didn't matter. It didn't matter that she could taste her tears mixed in with their kiss, spattering the flames with oil. Didn't matter that he would never love her back. That he still wasn't hers, not really. That this meant nothing to him and everything to her.

Because she was going to lose him. She would kill Harley and Ivy or they would kill her, and either way, she would lose Bruce. Andi had fought like hell, struggled until she was broken and beaten, and it wasn't enough. There was one way out of this, and she could never tell him, but at long last she was willing to face it. She had let go, but damned if she was going to have regrets until then. Her past was gone, her future gone, and the here and now was all she had left.

And somehow, with the fire catching, making it impossible to breathe, think, regret, here and now was enough.


End file.
